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. 

AND 


POEMS 


BASED    ON    FACTS    AND    TRADITIONS    OF    NEW 

ENGLAND    LIFE,    IN    THE    NEAR   AND 

REMOTE    PAST 


BY 


CHAUNCEY    EDWIN    PECK 


Published  by  the  Author 


Copyright  1904, 

by 
CHAUNCEY  E.  PECK 


PRESS  OF  CARPENTER  &  MOREHOUSE,  AMHERST,  MASS. 


Eased  on  a  few  of  the  facts  and  traditions  told  in 
nearly    every  New  England  town,    concern 
ing  the  occupation  of  that  territory  by 
the    Indians,   and  their  subse 
quent  sale  of  the  land  to 
the    white    men. 

ILLUSTRATED    FROM   PHOTOGRAPHS   TAKEN    BY  THE 
AUTHOR 


'a  Una? 

A  true  story  of  New  England  life,  A.  D.  1744 


MINNEOLA 

PAGE 

Explanation, 9 

The  Legend, 15 

Prelude, 19 

Minneola, 20 

Not  all  dream, 185 

There  to-day, •       .188 

Waiting  while, **?(j^  •        •  I92 

Conclusion,            lrf> 

THE  PARSON'S  ROSE 

Explanation, 201 

The  Parson's  Rose, 203 


ICtst  of  3lll«Btrattona 


No.  PAGE 
Frontispiece— Portrait. 

1.  Saw  the  tall  grass,           23 

2.  Came  one  evening, 27 

3.  Hills  and  valleys,            33 

4.  As  they  trailed  along, 43 

5.  When  she  looked,            63 

6.  Wilamansus  stood, 69 

7.  Peace  and  plenty,             79 

8.  And  her  form  to  stone,           87 

9.  And  a  stone  stood,           91 

10.  But  the  stone  man, 95 

11.  Indian  fireplace, 115 

12.  I  the  hunter  was, 119 

13.  Till  two  hundred  moons, 125 

14.  Brought  the  Peace  Pipe, 147 

15.  And  I  passed  again, 163 

16.  But  my  eyes  looked, 169 

17.  Sometimes  since, ,        ....  175 

18.  But  he  comes  not,             179 

19.  Weshaugan !     Weshaugan ! 183 

20.  There  to-day,           189 

21.  Waitingwhile  his,           i93 

22.  Tail  piece,  Peace  Pipe, 199 

23.  Tail  piece.  Flax  Wheel, 215 


HE  land  east  of  the  Connecticut  River,  originally 
purchased  from  the  Indians  by  Mr.  William 
Pynchon,  within  the  limits  of  the  present  City 
of  Springfield,  Mass.,  extended  to  the  Five  Mile 
Pond,  or  to  about  the  line  of  the  present  Parker 
street.  In  or  about  1674,  Elizur  Holyoke  and 
others,  purchased  from  the  Indians  the  land  lying 
easterly  of  the  William  Pynchon  purchase,  to  the 
mountains.  "  There  are  many  traditions  respecting 
the  claim  of  a  blind  Indian  to  the  territory  of  the 
town  of  Wilbraham,  and  of  some  compensation  made 
to  him  to  liquidate  it,  and  of  his  reserving  certain 
hunting  and  fishing  rights.  An  Indian  woman  lived 
there  for  a  number  of  years  after  the  white  people 
came." 

(From  History  of  Wilbraham,  Mass.,  published  in  1863.) 


io  Explanation 

WIGWAM  HILL.  This  elevation  is  mentioned  in 
the  records  of  the  town  of  Wilbraham  by  that  name, 
as  early  as  1744.  "  The  First  church  on  the  Moun 
tains  "  was  commenced  there  at  that  date,  and  fin 
ished  and  used  in  1748.  The  church  stood  about 
twenty  rods  south  of  the  present  residence  of  Henry 
T.  Bolles,  and  the  Minister's  house  (Rev.  Noah 
Merrick)  was  about  six  or  eight  rods  northwest  of 
Mr.  Bolles'  residence. 

WE-SHA-U-GAN,  THE  NAME  OF  THE  INDIAN 
WOMAN.  Her  wigwam,  which  gave  the  name  to  the 
hill,  was  near  its  southern  extremity,  on  the  east  side 
of  the  small  stream  which  divides  the  hill  from  the 
higher  ground.  She  was  an  occasional  visitor  at  the 
Minister's,  and  once,  at  least,  invited  him  to  dine 
with  her.  One  of  his  children,  accompanied  by  the 
mother,  remembered  to  have  eaten  succotash  in  the 
"  Old  Squaw's  Wigwam."  (Traditions  of  the  Mer 
rick  family.) 

WAL-NO-KIM,  THE  INDIAN  POTTER.  There  have 
lately  been  discovered  in  the  town,  evidences  of  the 


Explanation  11 

extensive  manufacture  of  Indian  dishes  from  soap- 
stone  boulders,  probably  deposited  in  the  glacial 
period,  with  dishes  in  all  stages  of  completion,  and 
many  fragments,  also  the  tools  of  trap-rock  used  in 
their  manufacture.  (Springfield  Republican,  July 
26,  1903.) 

It  is  said  that  no  Indian  weapons  have  been  found 
in  that  immediate  vicinity.  It  may  have  been  neu 
tral  territory. 

WAUGH-KE-GAN'S  TRAIL.  The  depression  in  the 
hills  northeast  of  the  Stone  church,  including  the 
valley  through  which  flows  the  Rill  of  Rubic  (or 
Rubicon).  This  small  stream  is  supplied  with  water 
from  two  independent  sources  about  one-fourth  of  a 
mile  apart,  one  rising  near  what  is  known  as  the 
"  Upper  Reservoir  "  and  flowing  north  until  it  meets 
the  other  flowing  south,  near  the  "  Lower  Reservoir," 
which  I  have  called  "  Minneola's  Mirror."  The 
"  Trail  "  is  now  used  as  a  public  highway. 

"  LAKES  OF  WAL-A-MU-SA."     The  two  bodies    of 


12  Explanation 

water,  about  two  miles  north  of  the  Stone  church, 
known  as  Nine  Mile  and  Spectacle  Ponds. 

WIL-A-MAN-SUS.     A  young  son  from  far  country. 
NI-NO-NAH.     Waughkegan's  Quaboag  bride. 

WAU-SHU-MAN.  The  blind  Indian  who,  according 
to  tradition,  sold  the  mountain  part  of  the  town  to  the 
white  men. 

About  1885,  I  found  an  Indian  stone  hatchet,  a  few 
rods  southwest  of  Minneola's  Mirror.  There  I  have 
located  Waugkegan's  Wigwam.  A  stone  mortar  and 
other  stone  implements,  now  in  Wesleyan  Academy 
Museum,  were  found  near.  In  1898  and  1899,  I 
found  the  two  stones  referred  to  in  the  poem  about 
thirty  feet  apart,  near  the  place  where  the  two  streams 
marry  in  the  Rill  of  Rubic.  They  are  thought  by 
some  to  resemble  human  figures. 

In  1890,  there  were  discovered  on  a  hill  north  of 
the  Stone  church,  in  a  triangular  position,  about 
twenty  feet  apart,  three  Indian  fireplaces,  two  of 


Explanation  ij 

which  were  destroyed  before  their  character  was 
recognized.  They  were  filled  with  the  ashes  of 
many  fires. 

There  is  an  Indian  tradition,  that  at  the  burial  of 
one  of  their  race  a  dove  flies  over  the  open  grave. 

The  ancients  had  a  belief  that  the  rainbow  formed 
a  bridge  on  which  the  spirits  of  the  saved  passed 
over  the  bottomless  abyss  into  the  regions  of  light 
beyond  this  world. 

The  common  superstition  about  the  wet  moon 
and  dry  moon,  is  too  well  known  to  need  any  expla 
nation. 


These  facts,  traditions  and  superstitions,  and  es 
pecially  the  stone  which  bears  some  resemblance  to 
a  woman  in  a  sitting  posture,  have  appealed  to  me 
for  several  years  to  give  them  expression. 


14  Explanation 

The  work  has  been  done  during  the  infrequent 
pauses  in  a  busy  life.  It  is  submitted  with  the  hope 
that  some  may  enjoy  the  reading  as  much  as  I  have 
enjoyed  the  writing. 

The  scene  is  first  laid  on  Wigwam  Hill,  then  in 
the  valley  northeast  of  the  Stone  church,  because  I 
there  found  the  two  stones  mentioned,  and  the  stone 
hatchet. 

CHAUNCEY  E.  PECK. 

Wilbraham,  Mass.,  Nov.  /,  1904 


On  the  afternoon  of  a  day  in  mid-autumn,  about 
the  year  1745,  Nathaniel  Hitchcock,  the  first  settler 
of  Wilbraham,  stood  on  Wigwam  Hill.  His  trusty 
gun  was  by  his  side,  his  well  filled  bag  of  game 
showed  that  the  day's  hunt  had  been  a  success.  He 
was  on  his  way  homeward.  Down  in  the  broad 
western  valley  at  his  feet,  he  had  built  his  house  of 
logs,  fifteen  years  before.  Neighbors  now  there 
were,  but  not  then.  He  saw  the  smoke  from  the 
chimney  of  his  log  cabin,  curling  slowly  upward  in 
the  still  October  day.  It  was  a  scene  of  peace. 
There  his  wife  and  children  waiting  his  coming  for 
their  evening  meal,  and  there  was  plenty  for  their 
needs. 

Turning,  he  looked  into  the  little  valley  south 
ward.  A  moving  form  attracted  his  attention.  It 


1 6  The  Legend 

seemed  to  be  a  human  figure,  bent  nearly  double, 
darting  quickly  back  and  forth,  apparently  trying  to 
catch  something  on  the  ground.  He  had  seen  it  be 
fore.  It  was  Weshaugan,  the  old  Indian  squaw, 
catching  mice  for  her  daily  food.  Weshaugan,  the 
last  of  that  mysterious  race  which  had  chased  the 
deer  over  those  hills  ;  which  had,  in  a  crude  way, 
tilled  those  fields,  and  had  buried  their  dead  within 
those  valleys.  Alone,  deserted  by  her  kindred, 
without  tribesmen  or  tribe,  she  had  lived  there  since 
the  white  men  came. 

He  was  stirred  with  pity  for  the  lonely  old  woman, 
and  went  down  the  hill  toward  her.  She  saw  him 
coming,  and  waited  by  her  wigwam  door.  "  We 
shaugan,"  he  said,  "  the  day  has  yielded  me  more 
than  plenty,  and  I  am  glad  that  it  is  so,  for  I  can 
well  spare  you  some  of  these  birds."  She  took  the 
two  partridges  he  handed  her,  saying,  "  The  white 
man  is  very  kind,  the  white  men  have  all  been  kind 
to  Weshaugan.  More  than  once  I  have  been  in- 


T/ie  Legend  ij 

vited,  and  have  taken  dinner  at  the  minister's." 
With  a  slight  show  of  pride  she  continued,  "  Only 
half  a  moon  ago,  I  invited  the  minister  and  mis 
tress  to  come  to  my  table.  I  told  them  I  had  caught 
a  nice,  fat  skunk  for  roasting,  and  wished  them  to 
taste  the  cooking  of  Weshaugan.  But  the  mistress 
explained  that  while  I  might  eat  at  the  minister's 
table,  his  position  would  not  permit  him  to  eat  at 
mine.  White  folks  have  strange  fancies." 

She  walked  slowly  back  and  forth  before  her  wig 
wam  for  a  moment,  as  though  she  did  not  wish  the 
interview  to  end,  and  said,  "  White  man,  Weshaugan 
is  growing  old.  The  morning  will  soon  dawn  when 
she  will  not  see  its  sunrise.  The  harvest  moon  is 
near,  and  at  that  time,  for  many  generations,  my 
people  have  told  the  legend  of  our  tribe  in  this  land, 
which  we  called  Minnechoag,  or  Berry  Land." 

She  motioned  him  to  be  seated  on  a  shelf  of  rock 
that  jutted  out  from  a  large  boulder,  and  seating  her- 


i8  The  Legend 

self  upon  a  fallen  tree  trunk,  her  wigwam  at 
her  back,  her  body  swaying  slowly  backward 
and  forward  as  the  story  proceeded,  the  lone 
old  woman,  the  last  one  there  of  her  people,  told 

"THE  LEGEND  OF  MINNEOLA." 


CHAPTER  I 

Thrice  as  far  away  as  arrow 
Swifting  fleeing  from  the  bow-string 
Falls  to  earth,  when  sped  by  hunter, 
Northward  from  my  humble  wigwam 
To  the  traiPof  young  Waughkegan, 
Where  he  first  came  down  the  mountain, 
By  the  trail,  and  near  the  water 
Known  as^Minneola's  Mirror, 
And  the  valley  is  the  scene  laid  ; 

Where  the  streamlet  northward  flowing 
Meets  the  streamlet  southward  flowing, 
Where  they  meet  and  marry  in  the 
Rill  of  Rubic,  westward  winding 
On  its  journey  to  the  river 
Through  the  elm-tree  shaded  valley 
Half  in  sunlight  half  in  shadow, 
Rubicon  the  peaceful  valley, 
Where  for  ages  lived  my  fathers, 
There  for  ages  lies  my  story. 


CHAPTER  II 

In  the  distant  days  of  past  time, 
In  far  moons  that  are  forgotten, 
When  the  men  were  large  of  stature, 
And  the  maids  were  very  winsome, 
When  the  deer  on  every  hill-top 
Sought  their  food,  and  in  the  streamlets 
Quenched  their  thirst  by  men  unhindered, 
When  the  earth  was  like  day  breaking, 
Young  and  fair  and  full  of  promise  ; 


Minneola  21 

In  a  land  towards  the  morning, 

Where  the  sun  is  sooner  risen, 

And  the  waste  of  mighty  waters 

Stretches  far  away  to  heaven, 

In  that  land  to  eastward  lying, 

On  a  night  in  early  summer, 

Young  Waughkegan,  stealthy  hunter, 

Eldest  of  his  parents'  children, 

Sleeping  in  his  father's  wigwam 

With  the  kindred  overflowing, 

Dreamed  a  dream,  as  young  men  will  dream, 

So  persuading,  and  compelling 

That  he  straightway  on  the  morrow 

Said  adieu  to  home  and  kindred  ; 

Took  his  trusty  bow  and  arrows, 

With  high  hope  eternal  springing 

In  his  bosom  as  he  journeyed, 

Trailed  away  towards  the  sunset. 


22  Minneola 

He  had  seen  himself  in  vision, 
In  a  fairer  land  to  westward, 
On  a  mountain  clothed  with  verdure, 
Looking  down  into  a  valley, 
Stretching  far  away  as  sight  went ; 
Saw  a  river  southward  flowing, 
Fed  by  rills  and  mountain  streamlets, 
Saw  the  tall  grass  of  the  meadows 
Wave^him  welcome,  stirred  by  soft  winds. 
In  the  dim  defiles  of  forests 
Saw  the  deer  herds  never  frightened 
By  the  hunter's  stealthy  footsteps. 
In  a  glen  beside  the  red  rock, 
Saw  a  hundred  warriors  standing, 


•  Saw  the  tall  grass  of  the  meadows 
Wave  him  welcome,  stirred  by  soft  winds. 


[23] 


Minneola  25 

Plumed  and  painted  for  the  battle, 
Waiting  for  their  chief's  appearing  ; 
Saw  himself,  The  Chieftain,  first  his 
Chieftain's  bonnet  wearing,  standing 
As  their  leader,  while  the  tribesmen 
Bending  low  with  deep  obeisance, 
And  with  fealty  proclaim  him 
"  Chief  Waughkegan,  of  the  valleys, 
Chieftain  of  the  mountain  region." 
Saw  the  warriors  home  returning 
From  the  foray  on  the  foeman, 
Bringing  wealth  of  scalps  and  plunder, 
To  dream  over  in  the  future. 

In  the  wigwams  of  the  people 
Plenty  dwelt  without  excesses, 
While  the  squaws  were  there  contented. 
And  his  sleeping  vision,  in  the 
Overflowing  wigwam,  showed  him, 
That  to  grasp  the  fruits  and  honors 
He  desired,  he  must  win  them. 


26  Minneola 


CHAPTER  III. 

Then  awaking  from  his  vision, 
So  enticing  and  compelling, 
Trailed  he  off  towards  the  sunset, 

Sometimes  on  the  mountain  ridges 
Where  the  sunlight  loved  to  linger, 
Sometimes  in  the  wooded  valleys 
Where  the  summer  sunbeams  came  not, 
Seeking  on  the  sunlit  mountain, 
Or  within  the  sun-hid  valleys, 
For  a  place  to  build  his  wigwam, 
And  to  better  his  condition, 
Came  one  evening  clown  the  mountain 
With  the  game  the  day  had  brought  him, 


Came  one  evening  down  the  mountain 
With  the  game  the  day  had  brought  him. 


[27] 


Minneola  29 

Made  his  camp  as  sun  was  setting 
Where  the  rills  of  water  meeting 
Offered  him  the  welcome  shelter 
Of  a  great  rock  from  the  east  wind. 

There  with  month-long  journey  weary 
In  his  camp  beside  the  streamlet, 
Slept  Waughkegan  through  the  night-time  ; 

Waked  at  morn  refreshed,  and  rising 
When  the  eastern  sky  was  blushing, 
While  the  morning  star  was  shining, 
Offered  earnest  adoration. 


jo  Minneola 

"  Oh  Thou  Manito,  The  Mighty, 
What  Thou  art  we  cannot  know  it, 
Cannot  comprehend  Thy  substance  ; 
Suns  and  moons  and  stars,  Thou  made  them, 

Peopled  them  with  unknown  peoples, 
And  they  move  at  Thy  commandment. 
Men  and  beasts  and  birds,  Thou  made  them, 
Filled  them  with  strange  aspirations, 
And  their  trail  is  Heaven  directed. 

What  are  we,  that  Thou  shouldst  tarry 
In  creations  so  stupendous, 
To  hear  wayward  children  crying, 
Fretful  children  in  the  night  time  ? 

But  we  feel  through  all  our  being 
That  Thy  love  directs  our  footsteps, 
And  to  Thee  we  daily  offer 
Love  supreme  and  reverence  due  Thee." 


Minneola 

Then  the  morn's  repast  attended. 
On  his  fire  of  coals  the  deer  flesh 
Broiling,  yielded  savory  odor, 
Blending  with  the  scent  of  pine  trees 
And  the  fragrant  breath  of  flowers ; 
As  he  ate  the  food,  with  berries, 
Gathered  by  the  streamlet  flowing, 
Quenched  his  thirst  in  Rubic's  waters, 
And  walked  forth  to  view  the  landlie. 

Strong  was  he,  and  fleet  of  footstep, 
Youth  was  his,  and  high  his  hope  was  ; 
He  would  rear  a  tribe  of  hunters, 
They  would  occupy  the  valleys, 
On  the  hills  would  build  their  wigwams. 


2  Minneola 

Cheerful  would  the  smoke  look,  rising 
In  the  afternoons  of  autumn, 
When  the  squaws  their  fires  had  lighted, 
As  the  hunters  down  the  mountain 
Bringing  game,  the  day  had  brought  them, 
Homeward  came  for  rest  at  night-time, 
For  the  rest  their  toil  had  earned  them. 

All  would  bend  the  knee  and  own  him 
First  among  them,  Chief  Waughkegan. 
Hills  and  valleys  were  around  him, 
Plains  and  meadows  stretched  before  him. 


•'  Hills  and  valleys  were  around  him, 
Plains  and  meadows  stretched  before  him.' 


[331 


Minneola  35 

Deer  abounded  in  the  forests, 
Quail  flew  out  from  every  covert ; 
Water  flowed  from  springs  unfailing 
In  the  cold  heart  of  the  mountain  ; 
Flowed  to  gladden  all  the  landscape, 
And  the  verdure  of  the  summer, 
Clothed  the  vales  and  fields  with  beauty. 

On  the  meadows  fell  the  sunlight, 
On  the  mountain  lay  the  shadows  ; 
Sunlit  meadows,  shadowed  mountain, 
Promise  gave  of  earth's  abundance. 


<5  Minneola 

All  seemed  waiting  for  man's  footprints, 
All  seemed  saying,  "  Welcome,  Stranger, 
Welcome  to  the  fruits  you  gather, 
Welcome  to  rewards  of  labor." 


And  the  freely  tendered  welcome 
Of  the  meadows  and  the  mountain 
Fell    upon  his  lonesome  spirit 
Like  a  restful  benediction, 
While  the  chieftain's  honors  thrilled  him  ; 

And  the  future,  bright  with  promise, 
Stood  afar  and  signalled  for  him 
To  abide  within  the  valley 
For  its  coming  with  fruition 
Of  his  hopes  and  aspirations. 
So  his  quest  for  home  he  ended. 


Minneola  37 

On  high  ground  beside  the'streamlet 
Skillfully  his  wigwam  fashioned, 
Wrought  with  love  upon  the  structure, 
Very  broad  and  spacious  made  it, 

Made  the  sides  of  heart  of  cedar, 
Made  the  floor  of  well-smoothed  oak  wood, 
Made  a  couch  of  boughs  of  hemlock, 
Benches  made  of  laurel  branches, 
Made  them  all  with  love's  sweet  labor. 

So  the  shadow  of  the  wigwam, 
When  the  morning  sun  was  shining, 
Fell  upon  the  cold  spring  flowing 
Out  from  underneath  the  gray  rock 
In  the  pleasant  vale  of  Rubic. 


j<$  Minneola 


CHAPTER  IV. 

When  the  wigwam  was  completed, 
And  his  work  of  love  was  ended, 
Backward  on  his  trail  he  journeyed, 
Three  full  days  returned  he  eastward, 
By  the  path  he  first  had  blazed  there. 

Camped  the  first  night  with  Walnokim 
On  the  farther  side  of  mountain. 


Minneola 

Skilled  Walnokim  was  in  making 
All  the  dishes  used  by  women 
In  their  keeping  of  the  wigwams  ; 

Jars  and  cups  of  clay  he  made  them 
Dishes  broad  and  deep  he  made  them, 
For  the  succotash  and  deer  flesh, 
For  the  maize  and  summer  berries. 
Two  full  days  and  nights  he  baked  them 
In  his  stone  cave  for  an  oven, 
Baked  and  glazed  them  for  the  women. 

Some  made  he  of  soapstone  boulders, 
Of ^the  smoothly  feeling  soapstone, 
Of  the  fire-resisting  soapstone, 
Which  the  Manito  had  sent  him 
In  the  bosom  of  a  glacier, 
In  the  days  when  ice  and  north  wind 
Froze  the  heart  of  all  the  mountains, 
Turned  to  stone  the  rills  and  rivers, 
Rent  the  rocks  with  icy  fingers. 


o  Minneola 

Till  the  sun  and  south  wind  slew  them, 
Slew  the  ice  and  tamed  the  north  wind, 
With  a  touch  so  soft  and  gentle 
That  the  rippling  rills  and  streamlets 
Laughed  aloud  among  the  pebbles, 
As  they  wandered  through  the  valleys, 
Clothing  all  the  earth  with  verdure 
In  the  genial  summer  weather. 

With  the  true  eye  and  deft  ringers 
Of  a  craftsman,  wrought  Walnokim, 
With  his  clay  and  on  the  soapstone 
Which  the  dying  glacier  left  him, 
Until  all  his  wares  were  noted 
Far  and  wide  in  many  wigwams. 


Minneola 

All  his  stores  he  showed  Waughkegan, 
From  the  stores  Waughkegan  chose  him 
Many  dishes  for  his  new  home, 
And  departing  on  the  morrow, 
Gave  a  deer  in  barter  for  them. 

Two  days  more  he  journeyed  eastward 
To  the  great  tribe  of  the  Quaboags, 
To  their  village  by  the  river 
Through  the  Quaboag  meadows  flowing  ; 

Sought  a  bride,  the  fair  Ninonah, 
Famous  as  a  wigwam  keeper, 
Wooed  and  won  her,  Chieftain's  daughter, 
While  a    hundred  hunters  sought  her. 


42  Minn  eo  la 

After  days  of  feast  and  dancing, 
By  the  customs  of  her  people, 
All  the  sweet  home  ties  she  severed, 
And  departed  with  her  husband. 

Light  the  heart  of  young  Waughkegan 
As  they  trailed  along  the  mountain, 
As  they  journeyed  through  the  greenwood, 


Light  the  heart  of  young  Waughkegan 

As  they  trailed  along  the  mountain, 

As  they  journeyed  through  the  greenwood: 


[43] 


Minneola 

As  he  brought  his  young  wife  homeward  ; 
Making  camp  at  every  evening, 
For  the  welcome  rest  of  night-time. 

Thrice  the  sun  had  set  and  risen, 
Thrice  the  moon  rode  high  in  heaven, 
Thrice  their  shadows  went  before  them, 
Thrice  the  shadows  trailed  behind  them. 

Each  day  farther  from  her  old  home, 
Nearer  to  her  husband's  wigwam, 
Till  on  summit  of  the  mountain 
Which  she  christened  Mount  Waughkegan, 
They  looked  down  into  the  valley. 

All  the  beauties  he  had  seen  there 
Saw  she  as  by  intuition, 
All  the  welcome  he'd  received  there, 
Received  she  in  larger  measure. 

But  the  summer  sun  descending 
Showed  her  more  than  met  his  vision 
When  two  moons  before  he  viewed  it. 


46  Minneola 

Far  adown  the  sloping  hill-side 
Her  eyes,  searching  for  a  token, 
Lighted  on  a  new  made  wigwam, 
Spacious  and  with  skill  constructed, 
Saw  what  she  had  been  expecting, 
Wigwam  waiting  for  its  keeper, 
Quite  complete  and  waiting  for  her. 

In  her  home  beside  the  river 
Through  the  Quaboag  meadows  flowing, 
They  had  called  her  fair  Ninonah, 
Sweetest  of  the  wigwam  keepers. 

All  the  lessons  she  had  learned  there 
Would  she  practice  in  her  new  home, 
And  in  many  ways  endeavor 
To  improve  upon  the  old  one. 

Pleasant  looked  the  wigwam  to  her 
As  the  summer  sun  descending, 
Cast  its  rays  between  the  branches 
Of  the  forest  trees  around  it, 
Cast  its  rays  like  arrows  flashing 


Minneola 

Through  the  forests'  leafy  branches, 
Flecking  all  the  new  made  surface, 
Like  the  speckled  trout  she'd  captured 
When  a  child  in  Quaboag's  waters. 
Thus  it  was  when  first  she  saw  it. 

Her  mind  saw  the  smoke  rise  from  it 
In  the  afternoons  of  autumn 
When  her  evening  fire  she  kindled, 
And  her  husband  homeward  coming 
From  his  hunting  on  the  mountain. 

He  would  see  the  smoke  curl  upward 
In  the  peaceful  autumn  evenings, 
Promise  of  the  rest  awaiting, 
In  the  home  her  love  would  make  him. 

So  with  love's  anticipations 
Came  they  down  the  sloping  hill-side, 
By  the  trail  Waughkegan  blazed  there, 
To  the  place  where  streamlets  meeting 
Marry  in  the  rill  of  Rubic. 
In  the  limpid  streamlet  flowing 
On  its  journey  through  the  valley, 


48  Minneola 

Rubicon,  the  peaceful  valley, 
Lying  in  the  sun  and  shadow. 

To  the  cabin  he  had  made  there, 
With  its  sides  of  heart  of  cedar, 
With  its  floor  of  well  smoothed  oak-wood, 
To  the  couch  and  benches  waiting. 

She  stepped  first  within  the  wigwam, 
Turning  then  with  bashful  gesture. 
Smiling,  loving,  bade  him  enter, 
Saying,  "  Welcome  home,  Waukegan, 
W'elcome  to  my  home,  my  husband." 

And  the  welcome  of  the  meadows, 
With  the  welcome  of  the  mountain, 
Touched  not  heart  of  young  Waughkegan 
Like  the  welcome  to  his  wigwam, 
From  his  bride,  the  fair  Ninonah. 

Growing  more  to  love  each  other, 
Thus  they  entered  on  their  future, 
With  the  wigwam  for  the  center 
Of  their  hopes  and  aspirations. 


Minneola  4.9 


CHAPTER  V. 

All  their  labor  would  attend  it, 
His  without,  and  hers  within  it. 
He  would  bring  the  game  to  keep  it, 
So  the  hated  wolves  of  hunger 
Never  enter  to  subdue  it, 
Never  even  look  within  it. 
She'd  prepare  the  food  they  needed, 
So  the  dreaded  hot-faced  fever 
Never  came  to  tarry  with  them, 
Or  depart  with  any  loved  one. 

4 


50  Minneola 

And  in  all  ways  keep  the  wigwam 
In  the  ways  that  women  keep  them, 
As  they're  only  skilled  to  keep  them. 

Thus  for  many  moons  she  kept  it, 
Through  the  days  of  early  summer, 
When  the  beautiful  earth-mother 
Wears  again  her  robe  of  blossoms 
Painted  freely  on  and  over 
All  the  spreading  fields  and  meadows, 
As  a  bride  with  beads  and  feathers 
Is  adorned  to  meet  her  hushand. 

When  the  chestnut  trees  in  blossom 
Clothe  the  green  and  sloping  hillside 
With  a  wealth  of  golden  color, 
Beautiful  as  evening  sunset, 
Promising  to  yield  a  harvest 
Which  the  children  love  to  gather. 


Minneola  57 

If  you  wander  there  in  season, 
Through  the  dim  defiles  of  forest, 
When  the  early  frosts  of  autumn 
Have  laid  bare  the  stored  up  treasures, 
You  may  gather  of  their  bounty 
Till  the  hands  refuse  to  carry, 
Or  of  gathering  you  weary. 

Through  the  harvest  days  of  summer, 
When  in  fruitful  fields  we  gather 
Burdens  from  the  kindly  mother, 
Of  the  food  and  fruits  she  brings  us, 

Through  the  autumn's  frosty  mornings, 
W7hen  the  oak  trees  and  the  chestnut 
Scatter  down  upon  the  dry  leaves 
Stores  of  nuts  by  many  handfuls, 
When  they  fall  upon  the  dry  leaves, 
Sounding  like  the  early  raindrops 
Of  the  shower  upon  the  wigwam. 


52  Minneola 

Through  rare  days  of  Indian  summer, 
When  the  swift  advancing  winter 
Seems  to  tarry  in  his  coming, 
With  a  breath  once  more  of  summer. 
When  the  sultry  air  is  laden 
With  a  haze  o'er  all  prevailing, 
To  those  autumn  days  peculiar, 
Days  for  resting  from  one's  labor, 
Days  to  love  the  kind  earth-mother. 

Days  when  old,  disabled  hunter 
May  secure  his  scant  provisions 
For  the  hungry  days  to  follow. 

Saw  the  autumn  sun  retreating, 
Each  day  farther  south  retiring, 
'Till  his  breath  was  not  sufficient 
To  remove  the  ice- spears  hanging 
On  the  hunter's  snow  bound  wigwam. 


Minneola  5J 

Then  through  dreary  days  of  winter, 
When  the  ice-king  from  the  north-land 
Lays  his  cold  and  freezing  fingers 
Upon  all  the  painted  blossoms 
Which  like  far-off  stars  have  sparkled 
In  the  meadows  through  the  summer. 
Saying  to  the  fragrant  blossoms 
And  the  grasses,  in  his  cold  voice, 
"  Dead  you  are  and  dead  must  ever 
Henceforth  be,  now  and  forever." 

When  the  storm  roars  through  the  forest, 
Shouting  down  the  frozen  hillside, 
"  Now  all  living  things  must  perish, 
When  I  and  the  mighty  ice-king 
Hold  our  sway  and  do  our  pleasure." 

On  the  trees  he  lays  his  fierce  hand, 
Giant  trees  that  have  defied  him 
For  five  hundred  moons  of  winter. 


^r  Minneola 

Shakes  the  sturdy  trunks  and  saplings, 
Beats  and  bends  the  spreading  tree-tops 
Till  a  rain  of  broken  branches, 
Making  fire-wood  for  the  wigwams, 
Falls  upon  the  ice-clad  surface 
Of  the  kind  earth  mother  hidden  ; 
As  the  acorns  fall  when  ripened 
On  the  yellow  leaves  of  autumn. 

Smites  the  earth  with  mighty  flail  strokes, 

Till  the  rocks  are  rent  and  broken 

By  his  unrelenting  fingers. 

Shouts  he  through  the  leafless  forest, 

Roaring  through  the  vales  and  valleys, 

"  Dead  all  nature  lies  before  me, 

Death  and  darkness  rule  where  I  reign." 


Minneola  55 

But  the  shouting  and  the  bluster 
Of  the  Ice-king  and  of  North  Wind 
Kill  not  everything  they  threaten, 
For  a  touch  of  sun  and  south-wind, 
Soft  and  gentle,  but  compelling, 
Drives  them  back  into  the  north-land, 
Whence  they  came  with  such  proud  boasting, 
And  the  life  which  they  have  shouted 
Henceforth  dead  forever  would  be, 
Lives  again  beneath  the  influence 
Of  the  summer  sun  and  showers. 


<5  Minneola 

So  the  breath  of  the  Great  Spirit 
And  the  sunshine  of  His  Presence 
Clothe  again  the  lives  we  lay  down 
When  the  shouting  evil  spirits 
Have  proclaimed  us  dead  forever, 
Henceforth  now  and  e'en  forever. 

Since  they  cannot  keep  for  all  time 
Over  all  things  the  dominion 
Which  they  hold  for  a  brief  season. 
For  the  Manito  in  pity 
Compels  all  the  evil  spirits 
To  retire  into  the  darkness 
When  their  scourging  is  sufficient. 
They  that  hear  Him  must  obey  Him. 


Minneola  57 

Through  the  soft  spring  days  Ninonah, 
Sweetest  of  the  wigwam  keepers, 
Saw  the  welcome  sun  returning 
From  his  dreary  journey  southward, 
Bringing  forth  the  birds  and  blossoms. 
From  their  coverts  in  the  forest ; 

Saw  the  streamlet  loose  the  cold  bonds 
Which  the  ice-king  laid  upon  it, 
Heard  once  more  its  cheerful  murmur, 
Flowing  downward  from  the  warm  springs, 
Deeply  hidden  in  the  mountain, 
Heard  it  singing  on  its  journey 
Through  the  meadows  to  its  marriage 
With  the  Chieftain  of  the  rivers, 
Flowing  through  a  larger  valley. 

Saw  the  dear  earth-mother  slowly 
Casting  off  her  icy  mantle, 
Robe  herself  in  garb  of  spring-time, 


$8  Minneola 

Saw  the  blossoms  of  the  meadows 
Rising  from  the  cast-off  ashes 
Of  the  lives  they  lived  aforetime ; 

By  the  miracle  of  nature's 
Sweet  and  wholesome  resurrection, 
Clothed  again  in  garb  more  lovely 
Than  the  one  that  died  in  autumn. 

Saw  the  dead  and  naked  forest 
Clothed  again  in  emerald  garments, 
Saw  the  birds  their  new  homes  making 
In  the  forest's  leafy  branches, 
Heard  a^ain  their  happy  singing 
As  they  wrought  at  their  home  building, 
Thus  their  destiny  fulfilling. 


Minneola  59 


CHAPTER  VI. 

So  the  seasons  came  and  passed  on, 
Always  coming,  always  going, 
And  the  years,  though  swiftly  passing, 
Laid  their  weight  as  lightly  on  her 
As  the  early  snow  flakes  falling ; 

Daughters  ten  and  sons  eleven 
Played  around  Waughkegan's  wigwam, 
Caught  the  minnows  in  the  waters, 
Trailed  the  deer  along  the  meadows, 
Grew  to  youth  and  manhood  quickly. 
Quickly  made  them  newer  wigwams, 
And  to  other  homes  were  scattered 
On  the  hills  and  plains  around  them. 

All  were  gone  but  Minneola, 
Best  beloved  and  youngest  daughter. 


60  Minneola 

She  remained  of  all  their  children, 
As  they  saw  old  age  approaching, 
By  her  youth  to  scatter  sunshine 
Through  the  days  and  in  the  dwelling 
Where  they  lived  and  loved  and  rested, 
When  each  day  of  effort  ended. 

Many  moons  had  set  and  risen, 
Many  suns  had  crossed  the  heaven, 
Many  winter's  snows  the  north  wind 
Whirled  and  drifted  'round  the  wigwam, 
Many  summer's  fruits  they'd  gathered 
From  the  earth's  redundant  measures, 
Many  blossoms  bloomed  and  faded, 
Many  treasures  daily  gathered, 
Tell  the  tale  of  their  life's  journey 
In  the  Rubic's  peaceful  valley. 


Minneola  61 


When  Ninonah,  who  had  given 
All  the  wealth  of  her  affection 
For  the  Chieftain  and  the  children, 
Without  waiting  for  Old  Age  to 
\Vrite  his  name  upon  her  forehead, 
Folded  up  her  hands  one  noontime, 
On  a  dreamy  day  in  autumn, 
All  her  cheerful  labor  ended. 

And  a  dove  to  southward  passing, 
Bore  the  word  to  passed-on  tribesmen 
That  Ninonah  soon  would  join  them, 
Her  probation  quite  completed. 

And  they  laid  her  so  the  shadow, 
Eastward  stretching  from  the  wigwam, 
Where  the  sunbeams  loved  to  linger, 
Fell  upon  her  grave  at  sunset. 
Lonely  then  our  Minneola 
Kept  the  wigwam  of  her  father. 


62  Minneola 

Fair  was  she  and  very  winsome, 
And  with  winsome  ways  she  always 
Strove  to  make  her  father  happy, 
All  a  daughter's  duty  doing. 

Dried  the  berries  that  she  gathered, 
Crushed  the  maize  her  father  brought  her, 
Gathered  acorns  in  the  autumn, 
Dried  the  flesh  of  deer  and  salmon, 
Stored  them  for  the  winter's  eating ; 
And  in  all  things  kept  the  wigwam 
In  the  ways  her  mother  taught  her  ; 
And  the  cool  and  crystal  water, 
Flowing  through  the  pool  beside  her, 
In  the  fragrant  time  of  summer, 
Paused  awhile  to  show  her,  when  she 
Looked  in  Minneola's  Mirror, 
That  among  the  fairest  daughters, 
She  was  very  fair  and  winsome. 
She,  the  nearest  to  her  father 
Of  the  children  of  Ninonah, 


Minneola  65 

So  with  willing  hands  and  footsteps, 
In  the  skillful  ways  of  women, 
She  kept  there  her  father's  wigwam, 
In  the  ways  familiar  to  him, 
In  the  ways  her  mother  kept  it. 

Keeping  time  by  new  moons  hanging 
In  the  western  sky  at  evening, 
Till  two  hundred  moons  she'd  counted 
In  the  western  sky  low  hanging. 

And  the  days  with  duties  laden. 
Ran  like  forest  fires  behind  her. 


66  Minneola 


CHAPTER  VII. 

In  those  long  forgotten  ages 

From  which  legends  only  reach  us, 

Sons  of  Manito,  The  Spirit 

Came  to  earth  and  walked  upon  it, 

Came  to  view  and  teach  the  tribesmen 

How  to  use  it  and  subdue  it. 

When  the  hunter's  moon  was  shining, 
Then  their  trails  to  earth  descending, 
Like  the  shooting  stars  of  night-time, 
Might  be  often  seen  at  evening 
O'er  the  wide  expanse  of  heaven, 
As  they  came  to  teach  the  hunters 
How  to  make  the  hills  and  valleys, 
How  to  make  the  lakes  and  rivers. 
How  to  make  the  fields  and  forests, 
Yield  them  food  to  stay  their  hunger, 
Yield  them  raiment  for  the  winter, 


Minneola  67 

How  to  make  the  earth  a  mother, 
For  their  needs  and  for  their  pleasure. 
And  they  noticed  that  men's  daughters, 
Very  fair  were,  and  most  winsome. 
Is  it  any  cause  for  wonder 
That  they  tired  of  living  lonesome, 
And  selected  wives  among  them  ? 
Happy  were  the  homes  they  founded, 
Plenty  dwelt  within  their  wigwams. 

On  a  morn  when  Minneola 
Went  to  pick  the  ripe,  red  berries, 
By  the  Rill  of  Rubic  growing, 
Gathering  thus  her  stores  for  winter, 
By  some  careless  footstep  loosened, 
Rolled  a  pebble  from  the  hillside, 
Fell  and  splashed  into  the  streamlet. 
And  the  maiden,  looking  upward, 
Looking  quickly,  saw  a  young  man 
On  Waughkegan's  trail  approaching. 

5 


68  Minneola 

Straight  was  he  as  any  arrow, 
Quick  was  he  as  any  bowstring, 
Fairer  far  than  all  her  brothers  ; 
And  she  knew  the  morning  brought  him, 
And  she  felt  her  mother  sent  him 
From  the  land  beyond  the  sunrise, 
From  the  home  of  the  departed. 

Clad  in  suit  of  creamy  buckskin, 
Round  his  waist  a  belt  of  bird  claws, 
Round  his  neck  a  sash  of  wampum, 
On  his  head  a  cap  of  white  fur. 
A  young  son  from  that  far  country, 
Wilamansus,  stood  before  her, 
Smiling,  saying,  "  Minneola, 
I  have  traveled  with  the  morning 
From  a  land  beyond  the  sunrise. 


And  the  waters  showed  her,  when  she 
Looked  in  Minneola's  Mirror, 
That  among  earth's  favored  daughters, 
She  was  very  fair  and  winsome." 

[63] 


Minneola 

I  have  come  with  haste  to  meet  you, 
Quickly  I  have  come  to  greet  you, 
And  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you. 

Fairest  far  of  all  men's  daughters, 
Winsome  most  of  all  earth's  maidens, 
I  with  haste  have  come  to  claim  you, 
If  you  kindly  will  accept  me." 

And  the  maiden  shyly  answered, 
While  her  heart  thrilled  with  emotion, 
"  If  you  wish  it  I  am  willing 
You  alone  shall  be  my  husband." 


2  Minncola 

Close  his  arm  entwined  around  her, 
Light  her  head  lay  on  his  shoulder, 
With  a  kiss  they  sealed  the  transfer 
Each  forever  to  the  other. 
And  the  streamlet  flowing  softly 
O'er  its  bed  of  shining  pebbles, 
To  its  marriage  with  the  river 
Flowing  through  a  larger  valley, 
Saw  it  all  and  told  the  swallows 
When  they  came  to  it  to  gather 
Moistened  earth  to  bind  together 
The  new  homes  which  they  were  building, 
And  the  swallows  told  their  children, 
So  to  me  the  children  told  it, 
And  so  now  to  you  I  tell  it. 

Hand  in  hand  and  hearts  united, 
Home  they  hastened  to  the  wigwam, 
Spacious  wigwam  of  Waughkegan. 


Minneola  73 

But  Waughkegan  saw  them  coming, 

By  the  instints  of  his  nature 

Knew  the  meaning  of  their  coming. 

Swiftly  then  his  thoughts  ran  backward 
On  the  trail  his  life  had  followed, 
Since  he  left  his  father's  wigwam, 
To  a  ne'er  forgotten  evening 
When  he  with  his  bride  Ninonah, 
Filled  with  dreamings  of  the  future, 
Trod  love's  trail  there  first  together. 

And  the  pleasant  recollection 
Warmed  his  heart  towards  his  daughter  ; 
Meeting  them  without  the  wigwam, 
Thus  he  answered  e'er  they  asked  him  : 

"  Minneola,  when  your  mother, 
Once  my  bride,  the  fair  Ninonah, 
Living  daily  in  our  memory, 
Passed  within  the  spheres  of  silence, 


<^  Minneola 

Whence  no  message  cometh  from  her, 
Lonely  was  the  wigwam  for  me, 
Lonely  were  the  fields  and  meadows, 
Where  together  we  had  wandered 
In  the  pleasant  days  of  summer. 

And  the  evening  breezes  sighing, 
On  their  way  along  the  mountain, 
Never  brought  to  my  ears  waiting, 
Sound  of  her  light  footsteps  falling. 
Lonely  looked  the  stars  upon  me, 
Lonely  rode  the  moon  above  me, 
Many  new  moons  we  had  counted 
Since  for  me  she  left  the  wigwam 
Of  her  father,  by  the  Quaboag ; 

But  you  lightly  took  the  burden 
She  unwilling  left  behind  her, 
And  have  carried  it  as  kindly 
As  your  mother  always  bore  it; 
So  your  father  has  not  suffered 
In  your  daily  ministrations." 


Minneola  75 

Laying  both  his  hands  upon  them, 
He  continued  with  his  answer, 
"  Life  lays  many  duties  on  us 
In  this  world  of  lights  and  shadows, 
Bearing,  rearing,  serving,  giving, 
Ours  to-day  and  yours  to-morrow. 

Daughter,  we  have  borne  you,  we  have 
Reared  you ;  daily  you  have  served  us  ; 
None  could  better,  or  could  sweeter, 
And  we  give  you  to  this  stranger  ; 

Such  is  life  through  generations. 
Only  now  I  earnest  pray  you, 
Leave  not  yet  your  father's  wigwam  ; 
Room  there  is  to  spare  within  it, 
Very  broad  and  spacious  is  it, 
Now  for  many  moons  you've  kept  it 
In  the  ways  your  mother  kept  it ; 

In  those  ways,  I  pray  you,  keep  it. 


76  Minneola 

And  I  charge  you  to  remember 
Every  day  will  bring  the  duties 
Which  that  day  must  see  completed, 
If  we  would  our  way  continue 
Without  dreading  the  to-morrow." 

So  they  entered  in  the  dwelling, 
Making  it  their  home,  and  in  time 
Other  children,  in  the  sunny 
Days  of  summer,  chased  each  other 
In  and  round  Waughkegan's  wigwam. 

Happy  then  was  Minneola, 
Happy  in  her  home  and  children, 
Happy  in  her  home  and  husband  ; 
All  the  days  were  filled  with  duties. 

Kindness  he  was  always  with  them, 
Patience  made  her  home  among  them, 
Love  and  Laughter  lived  beside  them, 
Plenty  dwelt  within  the  wigwam, 
And  her  father  was  contented. 


Minneola 

Wilamansus  taught  the  tribesmen 
How  to  make  them  suits  of  buckskin, 
How  to  make  of  stone  their  hatchets, 
How  to  tip  with  stone  their  arrows  ; 
How  to  grind  the  maize  in  mortars, 
How  to  lure  with  bait  the  fishes, 
From  the  lake  of  Walamusa, 
From  the  two  lakes  Walamusa  ; 
How  to  drive  the  deer  at  mid-day 
From  the  meadowrs  to  the  mountain, 
And  entrap  them  in  the  runway. 

In  the  glen  beside  a  red  rock, 
East  and  southward  from  the  wigwam, 
Where  the  northward  flowing  streamlet 
Springs  from  earth,  and  like  a  fountain, 
Flows  to  gladden  all  the  landscape  ; 

Quickly  there  they  made  a  runway. 
Only  closing  it  when  needed, 


78  Minneola 

So  the  deer,  from  meadows  feeding, 
Might  pass  through,  if  hunter  willed  it, 
And  become  accustomed  to  it ; 
But  they  fashioned  there  a  fixture, 
Nicely  balanced  a  contrivance, 
Children  partly  grown  might  turn  it, 
So  the  deer  was  quickly  captured, 
When  new  stores  of  food  were  needed 
In  the  hungry  hunter's  wigwam. 

Many  new  moons  came  and  passed  on, 
Peace  and  plenty,  love  and  duty, 
Daily  smiled  on  Minneola. 
But  the  seasons  ever  passing, 
Laid  their  burdens  on  her  father, 
Not  as  once  so  lightly  carried. 


Many  new  moons  came  and  passed  on, 
Peace  and  plenty,  love  and  duty, 
Daily  smiled  on  Minneola." 

1 79] 


Minneola  Si 

Age  was  claiming  Chief  Waughkegan, 
On  the  morrow  after  sunset, 
In  the  western  sky  low  hanging, 
Would  be  seen  his  thousandth  new  moon. 
All  his  children  he  would  gather 
From  their  homes  on  nearby  hilltops, 
From  their  homes  within  the  valley  ; 
They  would  bring  the  maize  and  berries, 
But  the  father,  Chief  Waughkegan, 
Would  provide  the  meat  for  feasting. 


82  Minneola 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

By  the  lakes  of  Walamusa, 
In  the  meadows  round  the  waters, 
Underneath  the  giant  elm  trees, 
Casting  far  their  grateful  shelter 
When  the  sun  was  high  in  heaven  ; 

In  the  meadows  at  the  morning, 
When  the  clew  lay  on  the  grasses, 
Taking  no  thought  for  to-morrow, 
So  their  daily  needs  were  granted, 
Browsed  the  deer  in  herd  contented, 
Satisfied  if  each  day  brought  them 
Daily  pasturage  for  seeking. 


Minneola  83 

Wilamansus  he  had  seen  them 
Only  yesterday  at  evening, 
As  he  came  that  way  from  hunting. 
On  the  morning  of  the  feast  day 
He  essayed  alone  to  bring  one 
From  the  lakes  into  the  runway. 

Chief  Waughkegan,  old  for  running, 
He  would  guard  the  farther  outlet  ; 
Minneola,  near  the  wigwam, 
Would  attend  the  trap,  as  often 
She  had  done  in  happy  past-time ; 

So  the  capture  was  divided. 
Each  had  part  the  most  congenial, 
Each  was  eager  to  do  the  part. 

"  I  will  bring  it,"  so  he  boasted, 
"  Ere  the  sun  has  reached  its  zenith." 
Then  he  kissed  her  as  his  wont  was, 
Off  he  trailed  for  Walamusa, 


84  Minneola 

Still  as  straight  as  any  arrow, 

Still  as  quick  as  any  bowstring, 

To  the  lakes  called  Walamusa, 

For  the  deer  which  there  were  feeding. 

Minneola  swept  the  wigwam, 
Making  ready  for  the  feasting. 
Set  out  all  the  soapstone  dishes, 
Swept  and  dusted  all  the  fixtures, 
Polished  all  the  sides  and  benches 
Till  the  floor  her  face  she  saw  in, 
Till  the  lodge  seemed  filled  with  women. 

Up  the  autumn  sun  ascended 
To  his  highest  place  in  heaven, 
When  she  heard  her  husband  shouting, 
Saw  him  from  the  meadows  coming, 
Saw  the  deer  flash  by  the  wigwam, 
Running  fleetly  up  the  runway. 

Down  her  heart  sank  with  foreboding, 
For  alas,  with  wigwam  busy, 
With  the  sweeping  and  preparing 


Minneola  8$ 

For  the  feasting,  her  thoughts  wandered, 
And  the  trap  she's  not  attended. 
Quickly  then  she  comprehended 
There  would  be  no  meat  for  feasting. 

Then  her  husband  stood  beside  her, 
Flushed  with  pride  at  his  endeavor; 
Old  Waughkegan  heard  the  shouting, 
Homeward  hurried  from  his  station. 
Meat  there  would  be  for  the  feasting, 
When  the  tribesmen  met  at  evening, 
In  the  longed  for  celebration 
Of  their  chieftain's  thousandth  new  moon. 

Then  upon  the  hills  above  them, 
Free  from  all  their  traps  and  cunning, 
Fled  the  deer  in  perfect  freedom. 
And  they  knew  that  Minneola 
Once  had  failed  to  do  her  duty. 

Bitterly  they  quick  concluded 
There  would  be  no  meat  for  feasting. 


86  Minneola 

Swift  the  wrath  of  Wilamansus  ; 
Without  waiting  to  consider, 
Up  he  raised  his  hand  and  smote  her, 
Fiercely  smote  her  on  the  forehead, 
Where  that  morning  he  had  kissed  her. 

Broken  hearted,  Minneola, 
Bride  and  wife  of  her  true  lover, 
After  all  those  kind  years  together, 
Ended  thus  her  sweet  life's  journey, 
By  the  hand  of  one  she  loved  much, 
By  the  hand  of  him  who  loved  her. 

Only  one  sad  look  she  gave  him, 
To  his  sense  of  right  appealing, 
Without  word  and  without  crying, 
Down  to  earth  her  body  shrinking, 
Swift  her  spirit  joined  her  mother's, 
And  her  form  to  stone  slow  turning  ; 


Down  to  earth  her  body  shrinking. 
Swift  her  spirit  joined  her  mother's. 
And  her  form  to  stone  slow  turning. 


Minneola  89 


While  a  passing  cloud  in  heaven 
Wept  the  tear  drops  of  good  spirits 
Who  had  daily  waited  on  them. 

But  that  day  of  dread  affliction 
With  the  advent  of  Swift  Passion, 
Was  not  ended  with  one  offering  ; 
For  the  Great  One  up  in  heaven, 
Watching  all  his  earthly  children, 
Saw  the  act  with  sore  displeasure  ; 


o  Minneola 

Seeing  it  from  his  high  station, 
And  he  straightway  hurled  an  arrow, 
Bright  as  light  and  swift  as  lightning, 
Through  the  clear  air  of  the  mid-day, 
Till  it  smote  the  Son  of  Morning, 
Smote  him  where  he  smote  earth's  daughter. 
And  a  stone  stood  where  he  had  stood, 
With  a  serpent  coiled  upon  it. 


And  a  stone  stood  where  he  had  stood 
\Yith  a  serpent  coiled  upon  it  " 


Minneola 

But  the  spirit  of  Swift  Passion, 
There  released  from  the  restraining 
Hands  of  Love  and  kindly  Patience, 
Wanders  hated,  feared  and  homeless, 
O'er  the  earth  for  ages  endless, 
Seeking  for  a  habitation 
In  the  hearts  that  strive  to  shun  him. 


4  Minneola 

Old  Waughkegan,  by  the  wigwam, 
Looking  upward  at  the  moment, 
Saw  the  Hand  that  hurled  the  arrow, 
Brighter  far  than  many  lightnings, 
Brighter  than  the  sun  at  noon-time, 
And  a  shadow  fell  around  him. 

Darkness  took  the  place  of  daylight, 
His  mid-day  was  turned  to  midnight, 
And  his  sightless  eyes  would  never 
See  his  thousandth  moon  in  this  life. 

Not  a  son  of  old  Waughkegan 
Yet  had  seen  his  thousandth  new  moon, 
For  the  blindness  fell  upon  them, 
For  their  eyes  were  overshadowed, 
If  they  lived  the  moons  to  count  them. 

But  the  stone  man  and  stone  woman 
Have  been  worshipped  by  my  people. 


Hut  the  stone  man  and  stone  woman 
Nave  been  worshiped  by  my  people.' 


Minneola 

Maids  have  worshipped  Minneola, 
Praying  her  to  send  a  lover. 
Men  have  worshipped  Wilamansus, 
Praying  for  success  in  hunting. 
Many  maidens  have  their  answer, 
Many  men  were  often  hungry. 

For  ten  thousand  moons  unnumbered 
In  the  vale  by  Rill  of  Rubic, 
Where  the  streamlet  flows  to  gladden, 
And  to  clothe  the  earth  with  verdure. 

In  that  green  and  pleasant  valley, 
There  those  forms  have  been  for  ages  : 
Earth's  fair  daughter,  once  forgetting 
Swift  to  speed  her  willing  footsteps, 
All  her  welcome  duty  doing  ; 
Son  of  Morning,  who  had  given 
From  his  true  heart  pure  devotion, 
And  in  all  his  earthly  journey 


8  Minneola 

Once  was  lost  in  dreadful  passion  ; 
Both  wait  there  to  be  forgiven 
At  the  great  and  final  judgment, 
When  the  hearts  intentions  govern, 
And  are  measured  in  the  verdict. 


Minneola  99 


CHAPTER  IX. 

There  the  tribe  remained  and  prospered, 
And  with  plenty  were  surrounded  ; 
But  forgot  their  adorations 
To  the  Manito,  Waughkegan 
Daily  worshipped  in  his  lifetime. 

They  forgot  the  Source  of  blessings, 
Of  the  seasons  and  the  harvests, 
Of  the  sunshine  and  the  showers  ; 
Each  was  with  himself  contented, 
And  they  worshiped  many  idols. 

Then  a  tribe  far  in  the  north-land, 
In  the  cold  and  cruel  north-land, 
Driven  from  their  snow-capped  wigwams 
By  the  fierce  and  bitter  North  Wind, 
Seeking  for  a  milder  climate 
Where  they'd  fix  their  habitations, 


ioo  Minneola 

Moved  by  tales  of  shorter  winters, 
Of  fair  lands  exceeding  fertile, 
Of  vast  deer  herds,  past  their  counting, 
Of  the  deep  and  wide  sea-water, 
And  by  dreams  of  endless  conquest, 

Turned  their  footsteps  down  the  valleys 
Of  the  streamlets  southward  flowing, 
Guided  by  the  flowing  river, 
As  it  journeyed  to  the  deep  sea, 

Came  unto  the  inland  water, 
Lying  then  beyond  the  mountain, 
Where  the  hunters  sought  the  trap-rock 
For  the  axes  and  the  arrows, 
Necessary  for  their  uses. 

And  they  camped  there  for  a  season, 
Levied  tribute  on  the  peoples, 
All  who  dwelt  within  that  region  ; 
For  their  hearts  were  cold  and  cruel 
As  the  country  whence  they  wandered. 


1  Wilamansus  stood  before  her, 
Smiling,  saying,  Minneola," 

[69] 


Minneola  101 

And  our  tribesmen  in  the  valley, 
In  the  Rubic's  peaceful  valley, 
Heard  the  story  of  their  prowess, 
Of  their  hard  and  stern  exactions. 

How  they  forced  the  men  to  labor, 
Drove  the  women  into  exile, 
Brought  the  maids  within  their  wigwams, 
And  their  services  commanded. 
How  they  banished  hope  and  laughter 
From  the  lodges  of  the  people 
Where  their  hated  steps  extended. 

And  the  hearts  of  all  the  tribesmen, 
Filled  with  sad  and  dire  forebodings, 
Where  before  contentment  flourished. 

But  as  yet  the  inland  water, 
In  the  great  sea  past  the  mountain, 
Kept  them  from  our  peaceful  valley  ; 
And  we  trusted  they  would  never 
Look  beyond,  or  seek  to  cross  it, 
But  the  trust  was  disappointed. 


IO2  Minneola 

For  the}'  made  them  ships  to  sail  in, 
Made  canoes  from  trunks  of  great  trees, 
Sailed  across  the  inland  water, 
Sailed  across  the  sea  Hokannum, 
And  descending  yonder  mountain, 
Came  within  our  own  dominions. 

Made  their  camp  where  now  the  pale-face 
Builds  his  sturdy  habitations, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Great  River  ; 
And  oppressed  the  peaceful  people, 
Till  their  hearts  were  rilled  with  sorrow, 
All  their  days  with  disappointment, 
And  their  lives  with  fear  and  hatred. 

In  that  sore  and  hard  oppression, 
They  remembered  how  Waughkegan, 
When  the  morning  star  was  shining, 
Offered  daily  adoration 
Unto  Him,  the  Great  Protector, 
Unto  Manito  the  Spirit. 
So  they  cried  aloud  to  heaven. 


Minneola 

For  relief  from  the  oppressor. 
For  return  of  peace  and  plenty, 
For  the  happy  days  of  past  time. 

And  the  Ear  that  always  listens 
Heard  and  understood  their  pleading, 
For  their  scourging  was  sufficient. 

Deep  down  in  the  trap-rock  mountain, 
Which  held  back  the  sea  Hokannum, 
There  were  seeds  of  dissolution. 

And  the  ages  of  erosion, 
Of  the  winds  and  of  the  winters, 
And  of  Time's  relentless  fingers, 
Forced  their  way  through  the  foundations 
In  the  deep  heart  of  the  mountain, 
And  awaited  His  commandment. 

On  a  day  in  Indian  summer, 
Day  of  days,  when  earth  seems  sweeter 
Than  at  any  other  season, 


104.  Minneola 

All  our  people  had  assembled 
On  the  crest  of  Mount  Waughkegan, 
Quite  determined  to  flee  eastward, 
And  escape  the  stern  exactions 
Of  the  hard  and  cruel  Northmen. 

From  the  highest  peak  of  mountain, 
They  looked  backward  o'er  the  home-land, 
Where  they'd  lived  and  loved  and  labored, 
Where  the  days  of  youth  they'd  squandered, 
Where  the  full  fruits  of  their  manhood 
They  had  reaped  in  by-gone  seasons. 

Where  the  ashes  of  their  people 
Rested  in  the  sun-hid  valleys ; 
Where  the  spirits  of  their  fathers 
Loved  to  come,  and  sometimes  wander 
O'er  again  the  trails  they'd  followed 
In  the  years  of  their  probation. 

So  they  lingered,  loath  to  leave  these, 
Loath  to  leave  the  fragrant  meadows 
And  their  happy  homes  forever. 


Minneola  105 

While  they  offered  adoration, 
Rose  a  zephyr  in  the  forest, 
Just  a  whirling  little  eddy, 
In  the  shadows  of  the  oak  trees, 
Somewhere  in  the  deeper  shadows. 

Whence  it  started,  none  could  tell  them, 
\Vhy  it  started,  none  imagined. 
It  was  just  a  little  whirlwind, 
Starting  in  among  the  oak  trees, 
Such  as  they  had  often  witnessed 
In  the  days  of  Indian  summer. 

And  it  swept  in  graceful  circles 
Past  the  tribe  with  their  possessions, 
Down  the  mountain's  side  descending, 
Whirling  gracefully  in  circles. 

Now  a  little  way  on  this  side, 
Then  a  little  way  on  that  side, 
Sure  and  rapidly  descending, 
Till  it  reached  the  spreading  meadows, 
And  swept  on  across  the  valley, 


106  Minneola 

Fast  toward  the  Northwest  Mountain. 
Gaining  strength  with  every  movement, 
Sweeping  everything  before  it, 
Till  it  grew  a  mighty  torrent, 
Black  and  frightful  to  the  vision, 
Weird  and  awful  to  the  hearing. 

Caught  the  oak  trees  in  its  pathway, 
Tossed  them  off  to  one  side,  lightly 
As  a  child  will  toss  the  dry  leaves 
Of  the  forest  in  his  playing. 

Onward,  swiftly  on,  its  course  was, 
Leaving  trail  of  wide  destruction, 
With  the  roar  of  many  thunders, 
With  the  might  of  many  monsters, 
Till  it  smote  the  traprock  mountain, 
Smote  it  with  the  fist  of  Titan 
At  the  place  where  it  was  weakest. 
Where  the  ages  of  erosion, 
And  of  time's  relentless  fingers, 


Minneola  ioj 

Found  the  seeds  of  dissolution, 
And  laid  bare  the  deep  foundations. 

Rent  and  tossed  the  rocks,  like  playthings, 
Hurled  them  far  into  the  distance  : 
Made  a  pathway  for  the  waters 
Of  the  inland  sea,  Hokannum, 
To  its  marriage  with  the  waters 
Of  the  mighty  waste  of  ocean. 

Like  a  maid,  the  sea  was  willing 
To  be  wedded  with  the  ocean, 
And  embraced  by  its  strong  currents. 

For  the  inland  life  was  narrow, 
Dull  and  irksome  to  its  spirit, 
And  the  winds  that  beat  its  bosom 
Only  served  to  stir  the  surface, 
Without  reaching  deeply  downward 
To  its  hungry  heart,  and  lonesome. 

Hungry  for  the  restless  motion 
Of  the  tides  forever  flowing. 
Lonesome  for  the  wild  commotion 


io8  Minneola 

Of  the  storms  on  ocean  beating. 

So  it  leaped  into  the  pathway, 
Made  by  time  and  by  the  whirlwind, 
Made  by  ages  of  erosion, 
And  with  instinct  born  of  freedom 
Ran  like  wild  deer  to  the  wedding. 

On  the  plains  below  the  mountain, 
And  upon  the  wide  Long  Meadow, 
Dwelt  the  hard  and  cruel  Northmen, 
Dwelt  the  tribe  of  our  oppressors. 

And  they  saw  their  doom  approaching, 
Saw,  but  could  not  flee  before  it. 

Wide  and  wider  spread  the  horror, 
Loud  and  louder  roared  the  torrent, 
High  and  higher  rose  the  billows, 
Sure  and  surer  their  destruction. 

Filled  with  sediment  the  waters, 
With  the  sediment  of  ages, 
Gathered  in  the  sea  Hokannum, 
And  it  flowed  around  their  ankles, 


Minneola  109 

Round  the  knees  and  to  the  waist  line, 
To  the  breasts  and  to  the  shoulders, 
Higher  yet  it  flowed  around  them, 
Upward  still,  and  there  entombed  them. 

Hardly  left  remaining  one  man 
Of  the  tribe  of  the  oppressors 
Of  my  people,  in  the  old  time. 

But  the  waters,  soon  subsiding, 
Left  a  trail  of  soil  behind  them, 
Deeper  than  the  tallest  hunter, 
Filled  with  graves  of  crafty  Northmen. 

If  you  wander  through  the  valleys, 
And  will  delve  among  their  sand  hills, 
You  may  find  the  bones  they  left  there  ; 

Some  erect  with  arms  extended, 
Pointing  to  the  hills  of  safety, 

Some  with  arms  around  each  other, 
Meeting  thus  their  fate  together, 

Some  with  bodies  early  fallen, 
Rest  recumbent  through  the  seasons. 

7 


no  Minneola 

And  the  children's  bones  are  with  them, 
All  awaiting  there  the  summons 
To  the  great  and  final  judgment, 
When  the  deeds  they  did  in  life-time 
Will  pass  in  review  before  them, 
And  determine  their  condition 
In  the  days  of  the  hereafter. 

While  the  footsteps  of  the  ages 
Move  with  measured  tread  above  them. 

But  the  pathway  through  the  mountain, 
(Which  you  call  the  Holyoke  Mountain,) 
Where  the  awful  whirlwind  smote  it, 
Still  remains  a  way  for  waters, 
From  the  snows  of  bitter  winters, 
In  the  far  lands  to  the  northward. 

Pathway  for  the  flowing  river 
On  its  journey  to  the  salt  sea. 

And  the  island  sea,  Hokannum, 
(Which  your  people  call  Northampton), 
Drained  away  were  all  its  waters. 


Minneola  in 

So  its  bed  is  now  the  dry  land, 
Where  the  grass  and  maize  are  growing. 

On  the  crest  of  Mount  Waughkegan, 
Horror  stricken  stood  our  tribesmen, 
And  beheld  the  visitation  ; 
Saw  the  awful  visitation 
Of  the  wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit 
On  the  tribe  of  their  oppressors. 

And  their  hearts  were  filled  with  wonder, 
And  with  love  for  their  Protector, 
Who  had  wrought  the  great  salvation 
From  their  hard  and  cruel  masters. 

So  they  offered  adoration 
At  the  evening,  as  at  morning. 

But  they  fled  not  to  the  eastward, 
For  the  dreaded  tribe  was  vanquished  ; 
Vanquished  by  an  Arm  so  mighty 
That  they  trembled  to  recall  it, 
For  they'd  seen  the  visitation. 


112  Minneola 

So  returning  to  their  wigwams, 
With  new  purposes  established, 
They  resumed  the  occupations 
By  that  day  thus  interrupted. 

But  they  loved  the  rolling  hillside, 
Loved  the  high  ground  of  the  mountain, 
And  were  fearful  of  the  meadows. 

They  were  not  contented,  ever, 
Long  to  dwell  upon  the  low  lands, 

For  the  hills  received  the  sunlight, 
First  at  morning,  last  at  evening, 
And  the  floods  would  not  o'erflow  them.* 


*  Geologists  agree  that  at  some  period  in  the  history  of  the  Con 
necticut  valley,  a  vast  inland  sea  existed  in  the  vicinity  of  the  pres 
ent  city  of  Northampton,  Mass.,  retained  by  the  Holyoke  range  of 
mountains,  through  which  a  passage  was  finally  forced.  Excava 
tions  made  within  the  present  year,  and  within  the  past  twenty 
years,  below  the  mountain,  have  unearthed  skeletons,  in  such  un 
usual  positions,  as  to  indicate  that  they  had  been  submerged  in  some 
flood,  and  buried  in  the  soil  which  the  water  contained. 


Minneola  113 


CHAPTER  X. 

Generations  of  my  fathers 
Came  and  went,  and  only  leaving 
Scarce  the  imprint  of  their  footsteps 
On  the  trail  the  tribesmen  traveled, 
Chasing  each  across  earth's  surface 
As  the  summer  clouds  at  mid-day 
Chase  each  other  in  the  heavens  ; 


Minneola 

Swiftly  as  the  fleeting  shadows 
Follow  each  across  the  meadows, 
Till  they  peopled  hill  and  valley. 
And  the  smoke  from  many  wigwams 
Oft  ascended  at  the  sunset. 


"  Where  those  evening  fires  were  kindled, 
When  the  smoke  from  many  wigwams 
Oft  ascended  at  the  sunset." 


["Si 


Minneola  117 


After  unrecorded  ages 
Then  unto  my  father's  wigwam, 
Unto  Chief  Waushuman's  wigwam, 
Weshaugan  came  one  morning 
When  the  sun  was  brightly  shining. 
Only  daughter  of  my  father. 
Youngest  child  of  Chief  Waushuman, 
Welcomed  was  I  to  his  wigwam. 


n8  Minneola 

Quickly  grew  I  into  girlhood, 
Filled  with  many  childish  fancies  ; 
When  my  father  came  at  evening 
From  his  hunting  on  the  mountain, 
Swiftly  ran  I  out  to  meet  him, 
Seized  his  bow  and  took  his  arrow, 
Strode  before  him  to  the  wigwam, 
I  the  hunter  was,  pretending, 
Who  had  caught  the  game  he  brought  us. 


Seized  his  bow  and  took  his  arrow, 
Strode  before  him  to  the  wigwam, 
I  the  hunter  was,  pretending,'' 

[119] 


Minneola  121 

And  my  father  entered  into 
All  my  childish  pranks  and  playing, 
Never  chiding,  nor  restraining 
Aught  the  flow  of  my  free  spirits. 

All  the  lore  my  mother  taught  me, 
Of  the  tribes  and  of  the  tribesmen, 
All  the  tales  of  Spirits  ranging 
On  the  earth,  or  heavenward  soaring  ; 
Through  the  realms  of  air  and  water, 
Through  the  realms  of  earth  and  nature, 
For  men's  hurt  or  for  their  pleasure  ; 

How  the  dove  o'erhead  high  flying, 
Swiftly  passes  far  to  southward, 
When  the  grave  receives  its  tenant, 
To  inform  the  passed  on  tribesmen 
That  another  soul  will  join  them 
From  the  green  fields  of  the  homeland, 
From  the  fields  they  loved  in  past  time  ; 


122  Minneola 

How  the  rainbow  arch  of  heaven 
Spanning  eastern  sky  at  evening, 
Makes  a  trail  for  chosen  tribesmen, 
Over  the  abyss  unfathomed 
Into  hunter's  fields  Elysian, 
In  the  home  of  the  hereafter  ; 

How  the  crescent  moon  low  hanging 
In  the  western  sky  at  evening, 
Shows  to  any  tribesman  watching, 
Whether  'twill  be  dry  or  wet  one. 

If  the  lower  horn  of  crescent 
Makes  a  place  where  Indian  hunter 
Hangs  his  bow  with  entire  safety, 
With  like  safety  may  he  journey 
Without  thought  of  rain  storms  falling, 
For  the  moon  will  be  a  dry  one. 


Minneola  123 

If  that  horn  is  earthward  turning, 
Let  him  gather  fire  logs  many, 
Stray  not  far  away  from  wigwam, 
For  the  moon  will  be  a  wet  one. 

Taught  me  all  the  wigwam  legends 
Of  my  people,  since  Waughkegan 
Brought  his  young  bride  from  the  Quaboag  ; 

And  she  taught  me  how  to  neatly 
Keep  the  wigwam  of  my  father, 
Or  of  any  lonesome  young  man 
Who  should  seek  me  in  the  future. 


124  Minneola 

And  the  season,  swiftly  passing, 
Came  and  went,  nor  once  delaying, 
Writing  changes  on  the  faces 
Of  the  fields  and  of  the  kindred 
I  had  grown  to  love  and  cherish, 
Till  two  hundred  moons  I'd  counted, 
Hanging  just  above  the  sunset ; 

When  the  sods  of  yonder  hill-side 
Hid  from  me  my  mother's  features, 
Then  I  kept  my  father's  wigwam 
In  the  ways  my  mother  kept  it. 


••  Till  two  hundred  moons  I'd  counted, 
Hanging  just  above  the  sunset." 

[•25] 


Minneola  127 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Soon  the  pale-face  built  their  lodges 
On  the  banks  along  the  river, 
The  Great  River,  Quinecticut, 
And  the  smoke  from  those  strange  cabins, 
When  their  morning  fires  were  kindled, 
Filled  the  valley  like  a  fog  cloud, 
Floated  breeze-borne  to  the  mountain. 

Restless,  anxious,  grew  the  tribesmen, 
With  the  dread  of  danger  lurking, 
In  the  advent  of  a  stranger, 
With  new  ways  and  guns  of  thunder, 
Come  perchance  to  seize  or  hunt  on 
The  inheritance  our  fathers 
Had  bequeathed  us  as  our  birthright 
In  the  days  when  they  were  dying. 


128  Minn  eo  la 

Beacon  fires  upon  the  mountain, 
On  the  crest  of  Mount  Waughkegan, 
Blazed  for  four  nights  until  midnight, 
Lighted  by  the  younger  tribesmen. 

From  the  vales  and  glades  and  meadows, 
From  their  fishing  by  the  rivers, 
From  the  forests'  deep  recesses, 
On  the  trails  the  fathers  traveled  ; 
Through  the  winding  lanes  of  forest, 
On  the  crest  of  mountain  ridges, 
Or  along  the  verdant  valleys, 

Came  the  hunters  from  their  hunting, 
Came  the  fishers  from  their  fishing, 
Summoned  by  the  fourfold  beacon  ; 

And  the  harvest  moon  was  shining, 
In  his  place  high  up  in  heaven  ; 

Moon  when  stores  of  maize  we  gather, 
For  the  dreary  moons  of  winter, 
When  the  days  of  Indian  summer 
Clothe  the  hills  and  meadows,  cover 


Minneola  129 

With  a  haze  o'er  all  prevailing. 
Only  known  in  that  brief  season, 
To  those  autumn  days  peculiar. 

Days  for  rest  and  not  for  striving, 
Days  for  love  and  not  repining, 
Rest  and  love,  alas,  they  come  not 
At  our  bidding  or  our  seeking. 

All  my  brothers  and  the  tribesmen, 
Knowing  well  the  pale-face  wished  it, 
Ventured  to  persuade  my  father, 
That  he  sell  the  hills  and  streamlets, 
Sell  the  rills  and  vales  and  meadows, 
And  trail  off  with  them  to  westward, 

Far  away  towards  the  sunset, 
To  a  land  where  game  was  plenty, 
Where  the  white  man  had  not  ventured  ; 

And  my  lover  was  their  leader. 

Tall  was  he  and  quick  as  bowstring, 
Youth  was  his  and  hope  was  glowing. 


ijo  Minneola 

I  had  made  his  suit  of  buckskin, 
Trimmed  it  with  the  claws  of  beaver 
He  had  caught  in  Beaver  Meadow  ; 

With  the  feathers  from  the  eagle 
He  had  captured  on  the  mountain, 
With  the  teeth  of  bear  and  bison 
From  the  prairies  of  the  sunset ; 

With  the  beads  my  father  gathered 
In  his  trading  with  the  pale-face, 
With  the  skill  my  mother  taught  me 
I  had  made  and  trimmed  it  for  him. 

Lingered  I  to  hear  his  pleading. 
Thus  he  said  when  all  were  gathered  : 

"  Father  of  the  valley  tribesmen, 
Chieftain  of  the  mountain  region  ; 

Deer  are  scarce  upon  the  meadows, 
Pale-face  camps  along  the  rivers, 
Room  for  us  and  them  there  is  not. 
We  must  either  go  or  they  must. 


Minneola  131 

And  the  time  to  make  decision 
Is  before  the  fates  compel  us. 

Wives  that  once  our  wigwams  brightened 
With  their  cheerful  ways  and  kindly, 
Now  are  silent  with  foreboding, 
And  their  fires  are  dull  at  evening. 

In  the  place  of  shouts  and  laughter, 
And  the  happy  childhood  voices, 
Now  we  hear  the  children  crying 
When  they  see  the  hunters  coming 
Empty  handed  down  the  mountain  ; 

For  the  hated  wolves  of  hunger 
Often  look  within  the  wigwams, 
And  our  hearts  are  sore  and  saddened 
By  complaining  wives  and  children, 
When  we  have  no  meat  for  eating ; 

And  the  lakes  of  Walamusa 
Yield  not  fish  as  once  for  catching ; 

All  the  voices  we  hear  calling, 
Voices  are  of  want  and  weeping, 
And  our  lives  are  wearied  with  them. 


132  Minn  co  la 

High  upon  the  mountain  ledges, 
Where  we  look  in  vain  for  traces 
Of  the  game  on  trails  abandoned  ; 
Down  along  the  lakelet's  beaches, 
When  we  vainly  seek  for  fishes, 
In  the  waters  once  prolific  ; 

Whether  on  the  mountain  ridges, 
Or  by  Walamusa's  waters, 
Or  upon  the  trails  abandoned, 
Comes  a  voice  with  note  of  welcome, 
Borne  to  us  on  every  west  wind, 

Bringing  urgent  invitation 
To  forget  the  days  behind  us, 
And  push  onward  to  the  westward, 
To  a  home  where  lieth  plenty  ; 
In  the  land  towards  the  sunset, 
Where  the  beacon  lights  are  shining, 
Lighting  up  an  open  pathway 
To  a  better  life  in  future. 


Minneola 

We  have  seen  the  sun  at  evening 
Slowly  sinking  to  his  setting, 
Painting  all  the  clouds  above  him 
Tints  of  red  and  gray  and  golden. 
We  have  felt  that  every  sunset, 
With  its  thousand  streaming  fingers, 
Was  a  beacon  set  to  guide  us, 
Rays  of  light  the  way  to  light  us. 

Golden  waits  the  future  for  us, 
In  a  land  that  beckons  to  us  ; 
These  have  wrought  the  spell  upon  us. 
Off  to  trail  and  leave  behind  us 
All  these  wornout  scenes  and  pastures. 

As  Waughkegan,  westward  trailing, 
In  the  days  that  are  forgotten, 
When  the  earth  was  in  its  morning, 
Found  conditions  here  which  pleased  him 
We  will  take  his  course  abandoned, 
And  in  newer  fields  of  effort 
Seek  to  better  our  condition. 


134  Minn  eo  la 

Land  alone  without  the  deer  herds, 
Will  not  shelter  or  support  us. 
If  we  linger  here  we  perish. 
When  the  pale-face  comes  to  purchase, 
Sell  the  land,  we  humbly  pray  you, 
Give  to  each  of  us  his  portion, 
And  to  other  homes  we'll  hasten." 


Minneola 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Then  my  father,  Chief  Waushuman, 
Chieftain  of  the  mountain  region, 
Thus  addressed  them,  "  Sons  and  tribesmen, 
You  have  spoken  well  and  wisely. 
If  my  eyes  as  bright  as  once  were, 
If  my  footsteps  light  as  once  were, 
If  my  years  as  few  as  once  were, 
I  would  lead  you  on  your  journey, 
I  would  lead  to  that  far  country. 

But  the  moons  will  not  turn  backward, 
Time  runs  ever  swiftly  forward, 
Always  winter  follows  summer, 
And  my  moons  are  almost  numbered. 

Coming  here  from  whence  I  know  not, 
Going  hence  to  place  I  know  not. 


ij6  Minneola 

Asked  not  if  I  would  or  would  not, 
Told  not  why  it  was  or  why  not, 

Here  in  careless  youth  my  footsteps 
Entered  on  my  earthly  journey  ; 
With  the  slightest  knowledge  only, 
Of  the  way  that  lay  before  me  ; 
Working  out  each  day  and  daily, 
Problems  which  each  day  presented. 

Now  the  end  is  fast  approaching. 
On  a  path  into  the  darkness, 
Messenger  to  land  I  know  not, 
On  the  trail  my  fathers  traveled, 
My  unwilling  feet  will  bear  me  ; 

Soon  a  weary,  wornout  hunter, 
Without  either  bow  or  arrow, 
Without  weapons,  without  wampum, 
Helpless  as  the  world  first  saw  me, 
Sightless  to  my  destination, 

On  remote  and  shining  planet, 
Stately  marching  through  the  distance, 


Minneola  137 

Which  I  oft  have  watched  with  wonder, 
Of  the  Master  Mind  that  made  it. 
And  through  paths  of  space  directs  it. 
Paths  so  vast  that  minds  of  mortals 
Cannot  know  or  comprehend  it, 
Cannot  measure  or  conceive  it, 

There  to  enter  the  condition 
For  which  lifetime  of  probation 
In  this  world  of  change  was  granted 

To  prepare  me  there  to  enter  ; 
And  abide  with  One  who  knoweth 
All  the  trials  and  temptations, 
All  the  hopes  and  expectations, 
All  the  aims  and  aspirations, 
Of  the  souls  of  sinful  mortals. 

I  can  almost  hear  the  footsteps 
Of  the  messenger  to  call  me, 
And  I  know  that  I  must  meet  him, 
Soon  somewhere  alone  shall  meet  him, 
Where  the  pathway  of  the  present 


Minneola 

Ends  in  pathway  to  the  future, 
On  the  trail  to  the  hereafter. 

Trusting  only  He  will  lead  me 
Through  the  green  and  pleasant  valleys, 
Or  upon  high  Arch  of  Heaven, 
Unto  hunters'  fields  Elysian  ; 

There  to  take  the  place  assigned  me, 
Where  the  tribes  of  men  will  gather 
In  the  home  of  the  hereafter  ; 
Thus  the  bonds  of  earth  to  sever 
In  the  land  of  the  forever. 

Hope  alone  lights  up  a  beacon, 
That  some  loved  one  there  is  waiting 
To  extend  a  hand  of  welcome, 
With  a  well-remembered  greeting, 
And  direct  my  way-worn  footsteps 
To  the  Happy  Habitations." 

Bury  not  with  my  abandoned, 
Wornout  tenement,  and  worthless, 


Minneola  139 

Any  tokens  of  affection 

Which  you  might  yourselves  have  shown  me, 

When  I  needed  brave,  bright  words  to 

Hold  my  heart  up  to  its  duty, 

In  some  time  of  disappointment, 

W7hen  the  light  of  life  seemed  fading, 

And  you  came  not  to  my  rescue. 

For  a  gift  of  smallest  flower, 
From  the  forest's  dark  recesses, 
Of  more  value  in  one's  lifetime, 
To  man's  lonely,  anxious  spirit, 
Than  the  blossoms  of  the  meadows 
Heaped  upon  its  senseless  casket. 

Wasted  are  such  testimonies, 
For  "  TOO  LATE  "  is  stamped  upon  them, 
And  the  eyes  you  might  have  brightened 
See  not  in  the  silent  darkness, 
Whither  all  mankind  are  going. 
And  the  ears,  grown  dull  with  waiting, 
Nevermore  will  hear  the  music 
Of  the  song  you  might  have  sung  them. 


14.0  Minneola 

Here  Waughkegan  built  his  wigwam, 
When  the  earth  was  in  its  morning, 
Here  Waushuman  will  be  waiting 
For  the  summons.     Soon  'tis  coming. 
When  the  pale-face  comes  to-morrow, 
Then  to  them  I  sell  the  home  land, 

Only  for  my  use  reserving 
Fish  that  swim  in  Walamusa 
And  the  streams  that  flow  to  southward  ; 
Deer  that  feed  on  Mount  Waughkegan, 
And  the  hills  and  vales  adjacent." 

Then  my  lover  came  to  meet  me, 
With  his  outstretched  hand,  and  saying, 
"  WTeshaugan,  I  have  wooed  you, 
And  I  love  you.     Go  you  with  us  ?" 

But  I  answered,  "  Since  my  mother 
Folded  up  her  hands  one  sunset, 
Since  my  father  felt  the  blindness 


Minneola 

Daily  growing  deeper  on  him, 
I  have  kept  his  lonely  wigwam, 
As  my  mother  always  kept  it. 
While  he  needs  me,  I  will  keep  it." 

Then  to  me  the  young  man  answered, 
"  Ere  a  hundred  moons  have  risen, 
In  the  western  sky  at  evening, 
Or  six  summer's  suns  are  followed 
By  the  autumn's  frosty  mornings. 
From  our  new  and  spacious  wigwam, 
From  a  home  where  plenty  dwelleth, 
In  the  pleasant  land  of  sunset, 
I  will  quickly  come  to  claim  you, 
Fair  and  winsome  Weshaugan." 
And  he  kissed  me  for  the  first  time. 


142  Minn  e  ola 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

On  the  morning  of  the  morrow, 
When  the  sun  was  high  in  heaven, 
Through  the  valley  came  the  pale-face, 
Slow  and  stately,  like  trees  walking, 
In  some  tribal  grand  procession. 

Came  the  many  like  as  one  man. 
Moving  with  the  power  of  many, 
Came  they  onward  to  the  forest. 

On  their  heads  were  hats  like  pine  cones, 
Broad  brims  spreading  like  the  mushrooms, 
Clothed  their  bodies  were  in  home-spun, 
Which  their  women  deftly  wove  them. 


Minneola 

On  their  feet  were  shoes  of  cow-skin, 
Hard  to  wear  and  hard  to  walk  in, 
But  of  value  for  protection. 

Round  their  waists  were  belts  of  ox-hide, 
Bullet  pouches  thence  suspended. 
Carved  was  every  horn  of  powder, 
By  the  side  of  each  man  hanging, 

And  on  every  sturdy  shoulder, 
Slanting  lay  their  deadly  muskets, 
Feared  and  dreaded  by  my  people. 

All  their  faces  were  full  bearded, 
Nourished  well  were  all  their  bodies, 
Not  a  sign  of  weakness  on  them, 
Not  a  claw  of  bear  or  beaver, 
Not  of  bird  or  fowl  a  feather, 
Not  of  paint  the  slightest  token, 

To  adorn  their  somber  clothing, 
To  entice  the  heart  of  maiden  ; 
Or  make  sad  the  heart  of  rival 
With  a  showing  of  their  prowess. 


144  Minneola 

Not  thus  strides  the  Indian  hunter 
In  pursuit  of  game  or  foeman, 
For  with  stealthy,  fox-like  footsteps 
Steals  he  softly  through  the  forest, 
Treading  not  on  bush  or  dry  branch, 
Stirring  not  the  leaves  he  walks  on, 

Lest  the  crackle  of  the  branches 
Or  the  rustle  of  the  dry  leaves 
Startle  that  for  which  he  seeketh  ; 
Sends  the  red  deer  through  the  forest, 
So  his  arrow  scarce  o'ertakes  it 
But  to  wound  and  not  disable  ; 

Sends  the  game  beyond  his  bow-shot, 
So  his  arrow  cannot  reach  it. 
And  the  trail  he  still  must  follow, 
Warns  the  foeman  to  be  wary, 
Or  his  life  may  pay  the  forfeit. 


Minneola 

When  the  pale-face  reached  the  forest, 
Off  they  flung  their  horns  of  powder, 
Laid  aside  their  trusty  muskets, 
Which  could  speak  with  voice  of  thunder, 
Which  could  light  a  flash  of  lightning, 
Which  could  fling  a  leaden  pellet 

Swifter  far  than  any  arrow, 
Farther  far  than  any  bowstring, 
Truer  far  than  Indian  hunter, 
Till  it  caught  the  red  deer  running, 
Till  it  overtook  and  slew  him. 

So  without  their  dreaded  weapons, 
Only  with  their  unknown  writing, 
Marched  they  on  into  the  forest, 
Came  they  to  Waushuman's  wigwam 
At  the  foot  of  Mount  Waughkegan. 

And  their  footsteps  all  at  one  time 
Smote  upon  the  sounding  hill-side, 
Till  the  kind  earth  seemed  to  tremble, 
Shrinking  from  unwelcome  strangers. 


146  Minneola 

So  with  pomp  and  pride  of  numbers, 
So  with  craft  and  wiles  of  hunters, 
Came  they  all  into  the  council, 
Sat  them  down  in  semi-circles, 

On  the  one  side  bearded  pale-face, 
On  the  other,  Indian  hunters. 
And  my  father  sat  between  them 
At  the  far  side  of  the  circle, 

I  stood  by  him  to  apprise  him, 
And  assist  his  failing  eyesight. 
Brought  the  Peace  Pipe  from  its  covert, 
In  the  heart  of  oak  tree  hidden, 
Placed  a  live  coal  deftly  in  it, 

Passed  it  round  to  every  member, 
As  they  sat  there  without  speaking, 
Till  the  fragrant  odor,  filling 
All  their  senses  with  contentment, 
Overspread  the  silent  council. 


"  Brought  the  Peace  Pipe  from  its  covert 
In  the  heart  of  oak  tree  hidden." 


[i47] 


Minneola 

Then  the  pale-face  chieftain,  standing 
By  his  seat  within  the  circle, 
From  his  breast  produced  the  writing, 
Thus  addressed  the  Indian  chieftain 
And  the  tribesmen  waiting  by  him  : 

"  Brothers,  from  afar  we've  traveled, 
Come  from  far  across  the  ocean, 
On  that  mighty  waste  of  waters 
Many  moons  we  sailed  across  them  ; 
While  the  great  canoe  that  bore  us 
Tossed  for  days  on  waves  around  us, 
High  as  mountains,  deep  as  valleys, 
Threatening  often  to  engulf  us. 

But  we  held  our  course  to  westward, 
Trusting  that  the  Manito  we 
Worshipped,  safe  would  bring  us  through  the 
Billows.     Safely  thus  he  brought  us 
To  the  Chiefdom  of  Waushuman, 
By  the  mountains  of  Waughkegan. 

9 


750  Minneola 

And  our  purpose  is  thus  stated  : 
We  would  till  the  hills  and  meadows, 
We  would  cultivate  the  valleys, 
We  would  prune  the  groves  and  forests 
And  subdue  them  to  our  uses, 
Till  the  land  will  feed  a  hundred 
Where  but  one  the  Indian  feedeth. 

We  would  tell  benighted  heathen 
Of  a  day  in  distant  past-time 
When  the  Son  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
He,  the  first  to  break  the  fetters 
Which  the  enemy  of  all  men 
Lays  upon  them  all  in  due  time  ; 

Risen  from  the  death  that  claimed  Him, 
Bade  us  teach  to  every  nation 
The  redemption  He  had  purchased 
For  their  souls  from  wrongs  committed, 
For  their  trespasses  and  sinning, 
For  the  deeds  done  in  the  body  ; 


Miuneola 

How  the  Manito  restores  them 
To  that  once  pure  state  in  Eden 
Which  was  lost  through  wiles  of  Tempter  ; 

How  the  Manito  forgives  them 
And  a  place  prepares  in  heaven 
For  the  souls  His  Son  has  quickened. 

We  might  come  to  you  with  muskets, 
Spouting  fire  and  leaden  bullets, 
With  the  sound  of  many  thunders 
To  compel  your  acquiescence. 

But  we  come  with  strings  of  Wampum, 
Come  with  beads  and  cloth  and  feathers, 
We  have  smoked  the  Peace  Pipe  with  you. 
And  our  purpose  is  by  purchase 
To  secure  the  lands  we  covet, 
Which  no  longer  will  support  you." 


152  Minneola 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

And  the  Chief  Waushuman  answered, 
"  Brothers  of  the  bearded  faces, 
We  have  listened  to  your  purpose, 
Skillfully  and  justly  stated. 

It  is  true  that  Indian  hunter 
Cannot  till  the  land  he  loveth, 
Cannot  cultivate  the  valleys, 
Cannot  make  the  hills  and  meadows 
Yield  him  food  to  stay  his  hunger, 
Yield  him  raiment  for  the  winter, 
Cannot  till  the  earth  as  you  can  ; 

But  must  have  wide  fields  to  roam  in, 
Forests  deep  to  trail  and  hunt  in, 
Or  the  game  will  grow  too  wary, 
And  the  hunger  seize  upon  him. 


Minneola 

All  around,  our  fathers'  ashes 
Fill  uncounted  graves  in  this  land  ; 
All  around,  our  fathers'  footprints 
Rest  on  every  tuft  and  hillock, 
And  the  trails  we  daily  follow, 
All  were  beaten  by  their  footsteps. 

Here  our  happy  days  of  childhood 
Ran  away  too  quickly  from  us. 
Here  in  early  youth  was  taught  us 
All  the  wiles  of  game  and  hunters. 
Here  the  moons  of  manhood  found  us, 
Each  day  striving  for  conditions 
Better  than  in  days  departed. 

All  the  dear  associations 
Of  our  lives  lie  here  around  us. 

All  the  hopes  and  aspirations 
Of  our  youth  come  up  before  us  ; 
But  we  cannot  live  on  these  things, 


1 54.  Minneola 

And  must  seek  in  deeper  forests 
For  the  game  that's  here  denied  us. 

Go  I  cannot,  and  my  daughter 
Stays  to  be  the  eyes  I  have  not, 
Till  I  cross  to  fields  Elysian 
On  the  rainbow  arch  of  heaven. 

Bring  the  Writing,  I  will  sign  it, 
While  my  hand  my  daughter  guideth, 
And  the  tribesmen  also  wish  it." 

Then  the  chieftain  of  the  pale-face 
Laid  the  writing  out  before  him, 
Spread  it  out  before  W'aushuman, 
Chieftain  of  the  mountain  region. 

With  the  ink  the  pen  was  nourished, 
While  I  placed  it  in  his  fingers, 
And  his  hand  unseeing  guided 
As  "  his  mark  "  upon  the  Writing 
Broad  and  clear  and  true  he  made  it ; 
Unrevocable  he  made  it, 
And  the  tribesmen  all  were  witness. 


Minneola  755 

But  my  heart  was  sad  and  weeping 
With  forebodings  of  the  future. 

I  had  seen  them  in  a  vision 
Trailing  westward,  few  and  feeble, 
Cold  and  hungry,  wet  and  lonely, 
On  the  bleak  and  barren  hill-sides, 
On  the  wind-swept  mountain  ridges, 
Through  the  swamps  and  vales  and  marshes. 

Crossing  rivers  swiftly  running, 
Saw  canoes  capsized  in  mid-stream, 
And  some  lost  in  deepest  waters. 
Saw  the  hot-faced  fever,  trailing 
Swift  or  slow,  but  always  with  them, 
And  some  left  along  the  wayside. 

Saw  them  meeting  tribes  much  larger, 
Meeting  other  tribes  much  fiercer, 
Saw  them  fighting  for  a  passage 
Through  the  forests  of  the  foemen  ; 
Saw  the  young  men  falling,  filling 


1 5  6  Minneola 

Unmarked  graves  within  the  forest ; 
Saw  the  old  men  take  the  places 
Of  the  fallen  in  the  battle, 
Soon  to  fall  themselves,  in  other 
Unremembered  graves  and  places. 

Saw  the  women,  maids  and  children 
Scattered  to  the  winds  of  heaven, 
So  I  lost  them  in  my  vision. 

Then  they  asked  the  Chief  Waushuman 
High  to  hold  his  hand  to  heaven, 
And  affirm  by  the  Great  Spirit 
He  without  compulsion  signed  it. 

"  No,"  my  father  answered,  quickly, 
"  Chieftain's  word  needs  no  attesting, 
And  the  Indian  swears  not  by  the 
Manito,  the  One  Great  Spirit, 
Who  hath  made  and  fed  and  keeps  him  ; 

Neither  by  His  messengers  nor 
By  the  angels  that  attend  Him, 


Minneola  757 

Who,  His  messages  receiving, 
Bear  them  far  on  wings,  the  lightning 
Cannot  even  overtake  them  ; 
Unto  stars,  or  worlds  emerging 
From  the  chaos  which  has  ruled  them, 
And  with  darkness  overspread  them, 
An  eternity  of  ages. 

Waiting  patiently  the  coming 
Of  the  angel  with  His  message, 
That  the  Light  shall  conquer  darkness, 
And  lost  worlds  shall  take  their  places 
In  the  stately  concourse,  moving 
Through  the  realms  of  space  so  distant. 

We  can  never  comprehend  it, 
Cannot  even  estimate  it. 
Speculation  lost  and  speechless 
Stands  before  the  mystery  of  it. 

We  the  deed  have  signed  it  freely, 
Yours  the  land  by  rightful  purchase. 
Soon  the  tribe  begins  the  journey 


I $8  Minneola 

Leading  them  to  that  far  country, 
On  a  trail  their  dreams  have  shown  them, 
Which  the  sun  of  evening  lighteth 
With  a  beacon  from  the  sunset. 

Only  I  and  Weshaugan 
Will  remain  a  few  moons  longer, 
Till  the  Manito  shall  call  me, 
Till  the  lover  comes  to  take  her 
To  a  new  home  in  the  future. 

Comrades  we  have  been  in  past-time, 
Comrades  we  will  be  till  parted." 


Minn  eo  la 


CHAPTER  XV. 

When  the  deed  was  executed 
And  the  purchase  price  divided, 
All  the  tribe  were  much  elated. 
Swift  the  hunters  formed  a  circle, 
Round  the  Chief  and  bearded  pale-face, 

Hand  clasped  hand  with  nearest  tribesman, 
Knee  touched  knee,  and  in  the  Glad  Dance 
Swiftly  round  the  circle  whirled  they, 
Footsteps  falling  all  at  one  time, 
Arms  upraised  and  quickly  falling, 
Keeping  time  with  flying  footsteps  ; 

Voices  calling  in  full  concert, 
Voices  chanting  in  the  glad  dance 
Words  remembered  from  the  fathers. 


160  Minneola 

"  We  will  take  the  trail  to  westward, 
Beacon  lighted  by  the  sunset, 
We  will  make  us  newer  wigwams 
In  the  sunlit  land  of  promise." 
WThile  their  eyes  shone  with  a  gladness 
Like  the  sunshine  in  the  morning. 

All  the  squaws  and  children  gathered 
On  the  outside  of  the  circle, 
While  the  maids  cheered  on  the  young  men, 
Chanting  with  them  in  the  chorus. 

And  the  pale-faced,  bearded  strangers 
Looked  with  eyes  both  keen  and  kindly. 
As  the  mothers  watch  their  children 
Playing  in  the  summer  evenings  ; 

But  the  kind  earth-mother  shuddered 
And  shrank  from  their  joyous  footsteps. 

Thus  the  Chieftain  and  my  people 
Sold  the  hills  and  rills  and  rivers, 
Sold  the  dales  and  vales  and  meadows, 


Minneola  161 

Sold  the  lakes  and  fields  and  forests, 
Sold  the  deer  and  bear  and  beaver, 
Sold  the  ashes  of  their  fathers, 
Sold  the  mountains  of  Waughkegan, 

Sold  them  for  some  strings  of  wampum, 
Sold  them  for  some  beads  and  feathers, 
Sold  them  for  a  "  Mess  of  Pottage." 

As  your  minister  was  reading 
Only  yesterday  at  evening, 
From  his  Great  Book  of  Creation, 
From  those  legends  of  the  past-time, 

How  the  hungry  hunter,  Esau, 
Sold  the  birth-right  to  his  brother, 
With  more  thought  of  present  pleasure 
Than  the  gift  of  God  the  Father. 

Then  the  squaws  a  feast  provided, 
Laid  it  out  before  the  strangers 
Laid  it  out  to  every  tribesman, 
While  I  waited  on  Waushuman. 


1 62  Minneola 

Feast  of  deer  flesh  and  of  berries, 
Feast  of  maize  and  early  acorns, 
Fish  from  lakes  of  Walamusa, 
Quail  from  mountains  of  Waughkegan. 

Set  it  out  in  soapstone  dishes 
From  the  quarries  of  Walnokim, 
From  the  ovens  where  he  baked  them, 
In  the  unrecorded  ages 
When  the  Chieftain,  old  Waughkegan, 
Gave  a  deer  in  barter  for  them. 

Set  a  feast  before  the  council, 
Of  the  best  their  stores  afforded. 
None  went  hungry  from  the  feasting, 
And  I  passed  again  the  Peace  Pipe. 


"  None  went  hungry  from  the  feasting 
And  I  passed  again  the  Peace  Pipe." 

[163] 


Minneola  16$ 

Then  the  bearded  strangers,  forming 
Into  ranks  as  in  the  morning 
Strode  away,  each  footstep  falling 
Where  the  footsteps  of  the  others 
Had  just  left  the  grass  up-springing  ; 

And  the  cadence  of  their  foot-falls 
Sounding  on  the  verdant  hill-side, 
Seemed  to  me  to  be  repeating, 
"  Now,  by  just  and  lawful  purchase, 
We  are  masters  of  the  chiefdom 
Of  the  mountains  of  Waughkegan. 

And  the  dear  earth  knew  its  master. 


1 66  Minneola 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Soon  the  tribesmen  with  their  deer  flesh. 
With  their  stores  of  maize  and  berries, 
With  their  wigwams  and  their  wampum, 
Filled  with  dreamings  of  the  future, 
Trailed  away  toward  the  sunset. 


Minneola  167 

I  went  with  them  to  the  river, 
To  the  great  stream  southward  flowing, 
Broad  Quinecticut,  the  river 
Flowing  through  the  wide,  long  meadow. 

And  the  mists  of  morning  lying 
White  and  still  upon  the  water, 
Overlaid  the  flowing  river, 
So  the  farther  shore  we  saw  not, 

As  the  old  men  with  their  paddles, 
As  the  young  men  with  their  weapons, 
As  the  women,  maids  and  children, 
Filled  the  bark  canoes  they'd  gathered 
For  the  passage  of  the  river. 

Saw  them  push  their  boats  from  this  shore, 
Heard  their  keels  grate  on  the  sandbar, 
Saw  their  dripping  paddles  dipping 
In  the  deep,  dark  water  flowing, 


1 68  Minneola 

Saw  them  slowly  slipping,  slipping, 
From  my  fog  enshrouded  vision, 
As  they  glided  from  the  homeland, 

Glided  out  upon  the  river. 
Passed  within  the  mists  of  morning, 
Vanished  far  from  me  forever. 

But  a  voice  came  from  the  fog-cloud, 
True  and  strong,  a  voice  I  loved  well, 
Saying,  "  Winsome  Weshaugan, 
I  will  quickly  come  to  claim  you." 

And  my  heart  went  with  the  tribesmen, 
But  my  eyes  looked  not  to  westward, 
And  my  feet  touched  not  the  waters. 


"  But  my  eyes  looked  not  to  westward 
And  my  feet  touched  not  the  waters.' 

[169] 


Minneola 

So  returning  to  my  father, 
Day  by  day  I  kept  his  wigwam. 
Daily  grew  his  footsteps  feebler, 
Daily  grew  his  darkness  deeper, 

As  the  inheritance  entailed 
On  all  sons  of  old  Waughkegan, 
For  once  looking  on  the  shining 
Hand  of  Manito  the  Mighty, 
Slowly,  surely  came  upon  him. 

And  the  days  ran  swiftly  by  me. 


IJ2  Minneola 

Half  a  hundred  moons  had  risen 
For  their  race  across  the  heaven, 
And  four  summers'  suns  were  followed 
By  the  autumn's  frosty  mornings ; 

When,  on  sultry  summer  evening, 
While  the  sky  was  black  as  night-time, 
And  the  clouds  rolled  up  like  mountains, 
And  the  thunder  shook  the  wigwam, 
And  the  oak  was  lightning-smitten, 
And  the  rock-crowned  hills  seemed  riven 
By  the  arrows  flashed  from  heaven, 
And  the  rain  in  floods  descending, 
And  the  rill  a  river  flowing, 

Then  my  father,  Blind  Waushuman, 
Chieftain  of  the  mountain  region, 
On  his  couch  lay,  and  I  watching, 
Footsteps  heard  of  Wilamansus 


Minneola  173 

Swift  approaching  on  the  mountain, 
All  unbidden  and  unwelcome, 
Heard  him  coming,  as  for  all  men. 

Footsteps  heard  without  the  cabin, 
Round  and  round  the  wigwam  passing, 
And  I  heard,  but  saw  not,  someone 
Entering  within  the  doorway, 
Without  asking  for  permission  ; 
Stop  beside  the  dying  chieftain. 

And  my  father  heard  the  footsteps, 
Smiled  the  visitor  a  welcome, 
Folded  up  his  hands  at  midnight, 
And  departed  with  the  stranger. 

Then,  the  storm  to  eastward  passing, 
While  the  lightning  lit  the  forest, 
And  a  dove  flew  through  the  tree-tops, 
By  the  lightning's  flash  I  saw  it. 


Minneola 

By  the  lightning's  light  I  laid  him, 
So  the  shadow  of  the  wigwam 
Fell  upon  his  grave  at  sunset. 
Lonely  then  I  kept  the  wigwam, 
Whence  my  father  had  departed. 

Sometimes  since,  on  Mount  Waughkegan, 
Often  since,  on  Wigwam  hill-top, 


"  Sometimes  since  on  Mount  Waughkegan, 
Often  since  on  Wigwam  Hilltop  " 


[175] 


Minneola 

Sometimes  since,  on  Mount  Waughkegan, 
Often  since,  on  Wigwam  hill-top, 
While  the  dew  lay  on  the  meadows, 
When  the  shadows  pointed  westward, 
As  the  shadows  turned  to  northward, 
Till  the  shadows  lengthened  eastward, 
Till  they  vanished  in  the  darkness, 

I  have  waited  for~the  young  man 
In  the  buckskin  suit  I  made  him, 
Who  had  kissed  me  on  the  forehead, 
Who  but  only  once  had  kissed  me, 
Coming  from  the  west  to  claim  me, 


Minneola 

Saying,  "  I  have  wooed  you,  and  I 
Love  you,  winsome  Weshaugan  ; 
Quickly  have  I  come  to  claim  you, 

Come  to  take  you  to  our  wigwam, 
In  the  pleasant  land  of  sunset." 

But  he  comes  not,  and  to-morrow 
I  shall  see  my  thousandth  new  moon. 


But  he  comes  not  and  to-morrow 

I  shall  see  my  thousandth  new  moon." 

[i79J 


Minneola  181 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

So  the  tale  of  Weshaugan, 
Of  the  Indian  squaw  was  ended. 

When  she  dieth  no  man  knoweth, 
Where  she  lieth  no  man  knoweth. 
Of  that  vanished  race  the  last  one. 

Vanished  like  the  shapes  of  dreamland, 
Vanished  like  the  forms  of  cloud-land, 
Vanished  like  the  deer  and  hunter, 
From  the  hills  and  rills  of  homeland, 
From  the  haunts  and  jaunts  of  tribesmen  ; 

Took  the  trail  to  join  the  young  man 
In  the  buckskin  suit  she  made  him, 
Waiting  for  her  in  the  new  land, 
In  the  fields  beyond  the  sunset, 
On  the  hills  above  the  twilight, 
In  the  home  of  the  hereafter. 


182  Minneola 

Weshaugan  !     Weshaugan  ! 
Thrice  a  thousand  moons  have  risen 
Since  you  heard  the  voice  of  duty 
Sounding  in  your  heart  from  heaven  ; 

Since  you  stifled  love  and  longing. 
Since  you  slew  desire,  ambition, 
And  became  a  household  angel 
Unto  one  of  earth's  afflicted  ; 
And  the  action  is  recorded. 

When  the  seals  of  time  are  broken, 
And  the  Great  Book  lies  wide  open, 
And  the  deeds  of  earth  are  spoken, 
We  may  hear  the  Herald  calling, 
"  Come  up  higher  !     Come  up  higher  ! 

Weshaugan  !     Weshaugan  !  " 


"  \Veshaugan  !  Weshaugan  ! 
Thrice  a  thousand  moons  have  risen 

[183] 


Minneola 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Not  all  dream  or  flight  of  fancy 
Of  a  mind  that  sees  but  darkly 
Through  the  mists  of  years  swift  passing, 

But  a  tale  of  life  and  living, 
When  the  heaven  sent  voice  of  duty, 
Louder  called  than  love's  sweet  singing 
In  the  hearts  of  some,  whose  footprints 
Linger  still  upon  the  mountain, 

Oft  are  found  within  the  valleys. 

For  in  springtime,  ploughman  sometimes, 
As  he  thrusts  his  shining  plowshare 
Deep  into  the  valley's  bosom, 
Turning  thus  his  lengthening  furrow 
Through  the  fallow  fields  of  autumn, 
Moved  to  labor  by  self  interest, 


1 86  Minneola 

Hoping  he  may  reap  a  harvest 
Equal  to  his  own  ambition, 

Brings  to  view  the  old  fire  places, 
Smoke  encrusted  stones  in  circles, 
With  some  fagots  yet  remaining, 
Many  ashes  still  adhering, 
Where  those  evening  fires  were  kindled, 
When  the  smoke  from  many  wigwams 

Oft  ascended  at  the  sunset ; 

Brings  to  view,  and  men  may  gather, 
Arrow  heads  of  flint  and  jasper, 
Hoes  and  hatchets  from  the  trap  rock, 
Which  the  northwest  mountain  gave  them, 
Dishes  from  the  soapstone  boulders 
Which  the  glacier  dead  bequeathed  them  ; 

W7hich  that  scarce  remembered  people, 
Who  have  lived  and  loved  and  died  here, 
Who  here  wrought  with  skill  the  weapons, 
And  much  cunning  toil,  utensils 
Necessary  for  their  uses. 


Minneola  i8j 

All  remind  us  of  the  presence 

In  the  half  forgotten  ages 

Of  another  race  of  people 

Who  have  walked  and  talked  and  wrought  here. 

Going  hence,  have  left  behind  them 
These,  their  many  footprints,  scattered 
Over  every  hill  and  valley, 
Through  all  the  land  we  call  our  own. 

These  again  the  shining  plowshare 
Brings  once  more  into  the  sunlight. 

Time  has  laid  his  fingers  on  them 
In  the  effort  to  subdue  them, 
Time  relentless  still  pursues  them. 

Relics  of  the  past  we  call  them, 
Voices  from  the  past,  they  serve  to 
Tell  us  o'er  again  the  story 
Of  the  days  that  have  departed. 


i88  Minneola 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

There  to-day  the  merry  maidens 
Chase  the  butterflies,  or  shadows 
Of  the  summer  clouds  swift  passing 
Over  all  the  grass-grown  by-ways, 
Now  for  many  years  abandoned, 
Of  the  ancient  Meeting  House  Lane, 
Where  in  half  forgotten  ages 
Children  of  the  vanished  races 
Played  around  their  fathers'  wigwams, 

Trailed  the  quail  along  the  ridges, 
Caught  the  minnows  in  the  waters, 
Chased  the  butterflies  or  shadows. 


•  There  to-day  the  merry  maidens 
Chase  the  butterflies  or  shadows. 


Minneola 

Where  in  later  times  the  fathers 
WTith  severe  and  sombre  faces, 
Trod  the  way  up  to  their  Zion, 
On  each  Sabbath  day  returning  ; 

Burning  with  a  zeal  heroic 
To  present  the  heathen  peoples, 
Clad  in  garments  of  their  fitting, 
At  the  altar  of  the  Father. 


192  Minneola 


CHAPTER  XX. 

There  to-day  the  youthful  farmer, 
Waiting  while  his  eager  cattle 
Quench  their  thirst  within  the  streamlet, 
Flowing  as  in  days  departed 
Through  the  green  and  fragrant  meadows, 
Past  the  remnants  of  the  wigwam 
Of  the  "  Old  Squaw  "  Weshaugan, 
Lying  in  the  sun  and  shadow, 
Where  the  tribesmen  oft  assembled  ; 

Seeth  not  the  swift  shapes  flitting 
On  and  over  hill  and  valley ; 


There  to-day  the  youthful  farmer 
Waiting  while  his  eager  cattle  '' 


[i93] 


Minneola 

Spirit  shapes,  returned  to  visit 
Earthly  scenes  they  loved,  and  silent 
Passing  round  the  wasted  ruins 
Of  that  ancient  habitation  ; 
Heareth  not  the  stealthy  footsteps 
Which  in  distant  days  once  followed 
All  the  old  trails  on  the  mountain  ; 

Or  the  voices  which  have  sounded 
Through  the  winding  lanes  of  forest, 
And  along  the  verdant  valleys, 
Or  upon  the  rock-strewn  hillside  ; 

Heedeth  not  the  absent  peoples, 
With  their  hopes  and  loves  and  dreaming, 
Who  there  strove  with  earth,  reluctant 
To  obtain  their  scant  subsistence, 
And  to-day  are  sweetly  sleeping, 
Peacefully  and  soundly  sleeping, 
Safe  within  earth's  kindly  bosom. 


i<}6  Minneola 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Still  the  streamlet  northward  flowing, 
Meets  the  streamlet  southward  flowing, 
Still  they  marry  in  the  rill  of 
Rubic,  winding  through  the  valley, 
Half  in  sunlight,  half  in  shadow, 

Rubicon,  the  peaceful  valley. 


Minneola  /<?/ 

There  the  men  and  maidens  strolling, 

Without  purpose,  idly  straying, 

Meet  by  chance  with  some  shy  greeting, 

As  they  met  in  by-gone  ages, 

And  together  careless  wander 

On  the  trail  Waughkegan  traveled, 

Many  thousand  moons  departed. 

Still  they  gather  ripe,  red  berries, 

Which  along  the  trail  are  growing, 

Still  the  sweetest  maidens  answer 

When  their  lovers  come  to  ask  them, 

As  that  Indian  maiden  answered, 
"  If  you  wish  it  I  am  willing 
You  alone  shall  be  my  husband." 

But  the  form  of  Minneola, 

Fairest  daughter  of  her  father, 

And  the  form  of  Wilamansus, 

Straight  as  arrow,  quick  as  bowstring, 


198  Minneola 

We  may  see  them  in  the  valley, 
When  the  sun  has  set  his  beacon, 
With  its  thousand  streaming  fingers, 
And  the  new  moon  is  low  hanging 
In  the  western  sky  at  evening, 
And  we  dream  of  days  in  past-time, 

Of  the  yesterday's  departed. 


PEACE    PIPE. 

(lather  all  the  waring  peoples, 
Pass  the  Peace  Pipe  round  the  circle. 
Slay  the  spirit  of  Swift  Passion, 
Till  sweet  faith  and  love  fraternal, 
Fill  the  place  that  hate  infernal 
Fills  in  hearts  of  sinful  mortals. 

Hastening  in  the  reign  triumphant. 
Of  the  Prince  of  Peace  benignant. 


[199] 


JI arson's 


In  1741,  Rev.  Noah  Merrick  was  ordained  and 
settled  as  the  first  Pastor  over  the  fourth  precinct 
of  Springfield,  now  Wilbraham,  Mass.  In  1744, 
he  married  Abigail  Brainard,  of  Haddam,  Conn. 
On  their  journey  on  horseback  to  his  parish  she  car 
ried  a  slip  of  a  rose  bush  from  her  old  home,  and 
set  it  out  by  the  new  one.  It  was  of  a  vigorous 
kind,  and  thrived.  Many  slips  were  taken  from  it, 
and  some  are  still  in  existence. 

The  story  was  first  told  me  when  a  child,  by  my 
great  aunt,  who,  in  her  youth  was  a  near  neighbor 
of  Mrs.  Merrick,  and  knew  her  well. 

A  slip  from  the  bush  is  growing  by  Mrs.  Mer- 
rick's  grave,  set  there  by  her  granddaughter  of  the 
fourth  generation. 


$ arsnn'0 


Far,  far  away,  in  the  dear  old  days, 

The  almost  forgotten  days  of  yore, 
A  maiden  stood  by  the  meeting  ways 

Of  the  streamlet  and  the  river's  shore. 

Her  heart  was  his  who  was  riding  down 

From  the  Precinct  where  he  preached  God's  will, 
To  bear  her  a  bride,  from  Haddam  town, 

To  his  parish  home  on  Wigwam  Hill. 

On  stores  of  clothing  and  linen,  long 

She  had  wrought  her  love  in  thoughtful  ways  ; 
The  wheel  and  shuttle  had  sung  their  song 

In  her  happy  home  through  the  summer  days. 


206  The  Parson  s  Rose 

The  wheel  and  reel  and  reeds  of  the  loom 

Did  well  their  work  by  her  swift  hands  sped, 

While  dreaming  dreams  of  her  parish  home 
With  her  Parson  lover  when  she  wed. 

The  wheel  and  distaff  of  native  woods, 

The  loom  and  shuttle  and  home-made  reel, 

With  stores  of  blankets  and  household  goods 
Were  laid  aside  with  the  spinning  wheel. 

Her  work  completed  and  safely  packed 
For  the  journey,  she  could  only  wait 

Till  o'er  trail  where  hunter  his  game  had  tracked, 
Her  lover  should  come  to  her  father's  gate. 

Oh,  why  will  the  maidens  leave  the  homes 

Where  the  kindred  and  their  parents  dwell, 

To  go  with  lover  whene'er  he  comes 

To  ring  the  chimes  on  the  wedding  bell ; 


The  Parson  s  Rose  207 

To  join  in  the  stir  and  stress  of  life, 

To  engage  in  work  which  is  never  done  ; 

Ask  you  why  the  world  is  rent  with  strife, 
Or  the  flame  ascends  to  meet  the  sun  ? 

A  horseman  riding  since  break  of  day 

Over  the  hills  and  under  the  lea, 
On  woodland  trail  and  the  King's  highway, 

With  blithsome  song  in  his  heart  rode  he. 

He  heard  the  note  of  the  forest  birds, 

As  they  told  again  their  tales  of  love, 

In  a  language  with  no  need  of  words, 
Swinging  aloft  in  the  trees  above. 

They  told  of  homes  their  love  would  create, 
In  shady  boughs  of  the  tree  top's  dome, 

How  each  would  labor  for  one  true  mate, 

And  their  young  would  sing  in  days  to  come. 


208  The  Parson  s  Rose 

So  the  lover  came  on  his  own  good  steed, 
At  evening  came  as  the  sun  went  down, 

Came  in  a  day,  for  he  rode  with  speed, 
To  marry  his  bride  in  Haddam  town. 

The  minister  came,  the  same  good  man 

Whose  hand  was  laid  on  her  baby  head ; 

With  the  Lord's  baptism  her  life  began, 
And  again  as  then  a  prayer  was  said. 

Few  indeed  were  the  words  he  spoke, 

Scarcely  enough,  it  would  sometimes  seem, 

To  bind  the  vine  to  the  sturdy  oak, 

Or  merge  such  lives  in  a  larger  stream. 

To  love,  to  cherish,  trust,  or  obey, 

What  matter  which  in  the  stress  of  years 

Through  which  the  trail  for  their  footsteps  lay, 
With  toil  encumbered,  and  care  that  sears. 


The  Parson  s  Rose  209 

A  rose  bush  grew  by  her  father's  door, 

A  wide  spread  bush,  bearing  wealth  of  bloom  ; 

It  had  blossomed  there  from  days  of  yore, 

And  filled  the  house  with  a  sweet  perfume. 

From  it  she  took  a  generous  store 

Of  slips  to  plant  by  her  new  home's  ways, 

To  call  to  her  mind  forevermore, 

The  old  home  life  of  her  girlhood  days. 

They  would  bring  to  her  with  sweet  perfume, 
So  like  a  breath  from  the  dear  old  home, 

A  breath  from  home  in  the  days  of  June, 
To  brighten  the  lonely  days  to  come. 

The  sun  was  painting  the  eastern  sky 

With  the  rose  red  hue  of  breaking  day, 

As  they  rode  from  her  home  the  trail  to  try 
Of  forest  path  and  the  King's  highway. 


2io  The  Parson  s  Rose 

She  had  dreamed  of  days  that  lay  before, 

The  home  she  would  make  was  in  her  mind, 

And  the  rose  bush  blooming  by  her  door 

Would  link  her  life  with  the  home  behind. 

On  her  own  horse  she  the  loved  slips  bore 

Throughout  that  ride  on  the  hunter's  trail, 

With  her  own  hands  set  them  by  the  door 
Of  the  parish  house  above  the  vale. 

They  grew  and  thrived  in  the  mountain  soil, 

That  damask  rose  from  the  old  home  dear  ; 

Many  fold  repaid  her  loving  toil, 

And  the  neighbors  sought  them  far  and  near. 

She  gave  to  all  with  a  generous  hand, 

To  all  who  came  and  a  rootlet  chose, 

Till  the  slips  were  set  through  all  that  land, 

And  came  to  be  called  "  The  Parson's  Rose." 


The  Parson  s  Rose  211 

They  bloomed  and  thrived  for  many  a  year, 
Sweet  perfume  bringing  to  other  homes  ; 

Her  thoughtful  act  is  remembered  there, 
Forgotten  the  Parson's  sermon  tomes. 

The  seasons  came  and  the  swift  years  sped, 
And  the  roses  bloomed  around  her  door, 

With  a  fragrance  sweet  as  when  she  wed 

In  the  scarce  remembered  days  of  yore. 


The  seasons  come  and  the  seasons  go, 

They  will  lay  stern  hands  upon  us  all, 

And  the  smallest  work  we  thoughtless  do 

Will  sometimes  stand  when  our  great  works  fall. 

Those  stores  of  linen  and  household  goods, 
The  moths  have  eaten  them  long  ago  ; 

The  wheel  and  distaff  of  home-made  woods 

Have  hushed  their  song  in  the  homes  below. 


212  The  Parson  s  Rose 

Parson  and  bride  we  shall  see  no  more, 

They  have  long  been  gone  from  Wigwam  Hill, 

But  fragrant  blossoms  from  slips  she  bore 

Of  "  The  Parson's  Rose,"  we  find  them  still. 

Bloom  on,  ye  roses  from  Haddam  town, 

And  stir  our  hearts  with  the  old  home  love  ; 

Days  await  us  when  deeds  we  have  done 
Will  all  be  counted  somewhere  above. 

A  day  and  a  deed  in  a  world  of  strife, 

May  stir  some  heart  with  the  will  to  try  ; 

May  kindle  a  light  in  some  dark  life, 

Or  lift  a  soul  to  the  Mansions  High. 

Throw  the  bird  a  crumb  when  the  snow  flakes  fall, 
Give  a  dog  a  bone  on  a  winter's  day, 

Heed  the  cry  of  pain,  and  of  want  the  call, 
And  wealth  shall  be  thine  to  bear  away. 


The  Parson  s  Rose  213 

A  word  to  brighten  the  lives  of  some, 

A  hand  extended  when  others  fail, 
A  red  rose  given  or  kind  act  done, 

May  reach  from  earth  to  within  the  veil. 

So  may  some  of  the  deeds  we  have  wrought, 
When  our  day  of  life  draws  near  its  close, 

Bring  to  our  minds  as  fragrant  a  thought, 

As  the  young  bride  planting  the  Old  Home  Rose. 


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